The Empire's Collapse
by Daemon Velaryon
Summary: "'Open fire on the capital of the rebel Kingdom of the North,' from Randyll Tarly's lips thundered the tremendous words of command." Robb Stark is defeated in battle, and the Lannisters invade the North. He decides to bury himself with his Empire.
1. Chapter 1 The Race for Winterfell

Before the story begins I want to make it very clear, that this story is a tribute to the 2004 German movie Downfall, Der Untergang.

The story is in the setting that Robb Stark married Roslin Frey and earned the support of Lord Frey, but in 'Operation Brandon,' an unsuccessful attempt to drive south and capture Highgarden Robb lost almost all of his cavalry and a third of his infantry. The Lannisters begin pushing north and storm Moat Calin. Two Lannister hosts under command of Jaime and Randyll Tarly enter the North and begin pushing towards Winterfell. A few characters, such as Brienne, Yara/Asha and Joffrey have little or no appearances, for the story is mostly focused on the North and King's Landing.

This is my first time writing Fanfic, so I am sorry if there might be a few mistakes. If there is anything you dislike about the story or feel I should improve, please feel free to tell me so, constructive criticism is much welcomed. A review is always welcome.

Chapter 1: The Race for Winterfell

Tywin was in a high mood, although he did not let it show.

He had just received a Raven from the North. Moat Calin had finally fallen, at the result of 10,000 Lannister casualties. But it was worth it, since the gateway to the North was open. The Trident was under full Lannister military control now, the Riverlords and their bannermen hastily fleeing to the North by sea in the Seaguard Evacuation.

When he entered the small council room, the Lords of the small council were debating something over a large map of the North spread on the table. Outside the tall windows the pale autumn sunshine shone bright patterns on the lavishly carpeted ground, a large Myrish carpet embroidered with Aegon I's coronation in Oldtown that had witnessed all the Small Council sessions since the days of Maegor I. In one corner was a large wooden screen imported from the Summer Isles, a thousand proud beasts and a thousand beautiful birds cavorted in bold paint. Two Valyrian sphinxes flanked the grand doors, glaring at him with eyes of Garnet.

Tywin gave a quick scan across the counseling room and the councilors within. He was pleased to notice neither Joffrey nor Cersei was present. When Tywin entered they all stood and bowed.

'Sit. I hope you all are aware that Moat Calin has fallen in the North.'

'I am. Tidings most glad,' Pycelle said, bobbing his head in a way that reminded Tywin of a turtle he saw yesterday. There is no strength left in this man, he thought.

'Glad tidings indeed,' Littlefinger agreed, his voice smooth as silk.'

'And soon the lands north of the Moat shall succumb to our bold king's rule,' Varys said in glad tones, his voice sweet and foul as rot. Tywin felt repulsive at the very sight of the eunuch.

'Please sit, my Lords,' Tywin gestured at the chairs. 'May I inquire what the discussion was?'

'We were planning how to best control the North as soon as possible, Lord Tywin,' Varys smiled in a way that made him sick in the stomach, 'we have had quite a few ideas.'

'If 'we' means the noble Lord Tyrell and Prince Martell, yes,' said Tyrion dryly.

Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell laughed. 'I said this before, and I will say it again. You Lannisters have two strong armies in the North, 7000 strong, all heavy horse. Push them north full speed, form a heavy hammer and smash through the Stark defenses. Destroy Winterfell and end the Young Wolf's kingdom. Simple as that. The Lightning War, some of my friends across the narrow sea would like to say. Blitzkrieg, in the Rhoynar tongues. But Lord Tyrell had raised quite some objections.'

Mace Tyrell nodded ponderously. The Lord of Highgarden was a man with a red face and balding brown hair, but a handsome man nonetheless. 'My Lords. I must raise objection to this most absurd plan. No commander, not even Ser Jaime or my loyal Randyll can hope to conquer an entire kingdom with seven thousand horse, let alone a kingdom as large as the North. My Lords, I suggest we wait. Give me the honor, and I will gather thirty thousand men in a fortnight and lead them north. Push along a wide front, subdue the lesser castles surrounding Winterfell first. After such, we may begin the siege of Winterfell.'

'In case you have not noticed the map here, Lord Tyrell,' Martell said sarcastically, his voice spiced with the accents of the Rhoyne, 'the North is a large place. To subdue to lesser castles would be mad, the procedure would take well over a year, and a siege in winter would be madder still. We would lose half our men and all our horses in the first snowstorm. We should aim directly for Winterfell, slay the wolf and the pups scatter. Use the last few months of Autumn for a fierce attack.'

'The Manderlys have built up quite a line of defense in the east, however, and the Starks have men in the west and have fortified the Kingsroad.' Tyrion pointed out.

He studied the large parchment map. It was a fine, detailed map of the North, beginning from the Wall and ending at the Neck, with roads, towns, castles, keeps and strongholds marked neatly. Small statues of wolves, merman, towers, flayed men and fish represented Robb Stark's current forces in the north, a mixed race of Northmen, Riverlords and sellswords. Some nine thousand remained of the twenty thousand that had marched south.

Both Martell and Tyrell were stupid, he decided, Martell having courage but lacking good sense and Tyrell lacking the courage as well. Both of their plan had merits but were absurd to the bone. There was no way to overwhelm the North with a mere seven thousand men but it would be too long to wait for a second host to arrive from Highgarden. They would have to begin the invasion operation before the Northern winter came or all was lost. A plan formed in his mind.

Tywin glanced at Kevan, his brother. Kevan understood the hint and rose. 'My Lords,' said his brother, 'mayhaps Lord Tywin has some way to settle the dispute.' Kevan was always his vanguard in the council, clearing the path out for himself.

All silenced. 'As it happens I do,' said Tywin. He gestured at the map and spoke.

'Tyrell and Martell both make good points, but neither of their plans is plausible.' Prince Oberyn looked amused by his remark, Lord Tyrell looked wounded. 'We cannot hope to subdue the entire North before winter comes, but we also cannot hope to capture Winterfell with 7000 horse. I have a plan, my Lords, hear me out.' Tywin gestured at the far end of the table.

'Beyond the lands shown by the map there is still two cavalry hosts stationed in the south, close enough from Moat Calin to arrive within a week. 6000 Reach Calvary in Duskendale, 5000 Lannister Horse in Riverrun. Give these two armies to two able commanders, and command them to drive North as fast as possible. They will join forces with our hosts in the North and then we shall drive for Winterfell with a larger host. The host shall drive North in two proud armies, the Westerland Horse under command of Ser Jaime shall drive along the East Coast, the Reach Cavalry from the West Coast. Think of it as a race. The Armies shall contest for first place.' Competition was healthy, thought Tywin, and ensured maximum efficiency.

'The Race for Winterfell,' Martell laughed. 'I like it.'

'So, father,' said Tyrion, 'a mighty plan, but a race requires a prize for the Champion.'

'The prize is the North,' said Tywin, enjoying the shocked looks on the councilors' faces. 'After Robb Stark is dead I will make sure his brothers die in an unfortunate accident, making Sansa the heir of the North. If the Westerland army reaches Winterfell first we shall capture Sansa Stark and marry her to Tyrion, giving the lands and incomes of the North under the name of Casterly Rock. If the Reach army wins, Sansa will be given to Ser Loras Tyrell as wife.' This seemed a rather large gamble, risking the Lannister dominion in the North for mere efficiency, but Tywin had faith in Jaime. Jaime was a true Lannister, thought he, as strong as I and valiant as Tygett.

'Father,' Tyrion raised his voice again, 'may I inquire which poor bastards have you in mind to command these armies?'

'The Reach Army, Ser Garlan Flowers, natural son of Lord Tyrell.' Mace Tyrell nodded his head in thanks. 'As for the Westerland army, you will command them, Tyrion.'

Tywin enjoyed a few moments of satisfaction at the shocked look on Tyrion's face. Oberyn Martell was laughing out loud, Kevan was grinning, even Pycelle managed a twist on his lips that might have been a smile. Finnaly Tywin could not control himself and let out a chuckle.


	2. Chapter 2 The Kraken of the North

Chapter 2 The Kraken in the North

Robb Stark, the King in the North slowly walked into Winterfell's Great Hall.

Theon watched him closely. Robb was walking crookedly, as if the weight of his crown was holding him down. Snow was melting in his hair. In the hall, the Lords of the North were standing, Roose Bolton, Greatjon Umber, Lords Karstark and Flint and Manderly. There also stood the Southron Lords of the Trident, refugees whose lands were took by the Lannisters. Walder Frey and Jonos Bracken were captives of the Lannisters, but Brynden Tully was there, tall and solemn, as was Jason Mallister, old yet elegant and Edmure Tully, sullen and angry. They stood silent.

'My Lords. King Robb Stark!' Perwyn Frey announced in his squeaky voice.

'Stark, Stark, the King in the North! All hail, all hail!' Greatjon shouted.

'The King in the North!' the Lords cried. Robb, still silent, rose his hand in a thanking gesture. He climbed his throne slowly. Lady Catelyn stood at the foot of the hall, looking closely. An old woman, thought Theon, but there is more strength in her than half the Lords.

'My Lords. Moat Calin has fallen. Two Lannister Hosts have entered the North. I have commanded the Lords Barrowton and Dustin to give them battle.' The young king said.

Some already knew this news and chose to keep silent, but some failed to hold their tongues. 'Exactly how many men do the Lannisters have, Your Grace?' Edmure asked.

'Seven thousand heavy horse.' The Blackfish answered for him.

'We can never hope to give seven thousand horse battle with Barrowton's ten thousand infantry.'

'His Grace has faced worse odds and won,' objected the Greatjon.

A gust of cold wind leaked into the hall through a gap in the gates. A few torches flickered and failed. 'Lord Edmure,' Roose Bolton at Theon's side commented softly. 'What a clown.'

Bolton was a fine friend who dared to speak his mind, Theon found. Although slightly intimidating Theon found conversation with Bolton amusing. 'He's a vain man. They're all vain men.'

'But at the very least he dares to speak his mind,' said Bolton. 'All these Lords are clear there is no way His Grace can win this war. Not in the field.'

'Not in the field, at least. Our only hope is to fall back to our strongholds.'

'That, or surrender. You should try to talk that into His Grace,' agreed Bolton. 'You are his closest companion.'

'I have done what I can, Robb wouldn't listen,' Theon sighed. 'Operation Brandon wounded his pride, he will never retreat again.'

'Then talk to Lord Brynden then. He is His Grace's hand, after all, the only Riverlord who has some influence to him.'

'The Blackfish has tried and failed. Robb is a good commander but a boy still.'

'Then talk to Queen Roslin then,' Bolton urged, 'after all, you are betrothed to her half-sister fair Walda, and you… do boast of having carnal knowledge of her.'

Theon grinned at the memory. That was one of his finer moments. He had known a hundred women but never a queen. He knew the penalty for bedding a queen was death but somehow the treason only made their love more exiting. 'Are you mad? Roslin?'

'Queen Roslin is your sister by marriage. Talk to her. Maybe she can persuade his Grace out of this madness.' Bolton was talking out of the corner of his mouth, watching Edmure debate with Robb.

Theon sighed. 'I will do what I can then.'

After an hour or so the sun had set low, as had the patience of many Lords. Robb finally gave them leave to leave. 'Theon, Lord Bolton,' Robb said, after descending down his throne and giving his crown to his squire Olyvar Frey, 'I hope you are free for the night to sup with me.'

'Most certainly, Your Grace,' Lord Bolton bowed to Robb.

'I could not miss it,' said Theon. Robb tried to smile and failed.

'We'll talk about horses and dogs and women over meat and mead. Just like old times.' Robb gave Theon a quivery little grin and leaved.

He knows the war is lost, thought Theon, he is just too proud to admit.

Nighttime found him with a cup of sour wine in his hand honing his sword. Sharpening his weapons regularly was a proud habit of his, and the sound of stone on steel was comforting in these troubled times. When Olyvar Frey came to summon him to sup with the king, he donned a handsome black doublet embroidered with a golden kraken and proceeded to join the king.

Lord Bolton was already present, as was the Lady Catelyn and Ser Brynden. Robb sat at the head of the table, at his left Queen Roslin. Theon bowed.

'Ah, Theon.' Robb looked at him. 'The best guest always comes the last.'

Theon smiled and claimed an empty seat, between Lord Bolton and Queen Roslin. Roslin blushed. Theon's smile grew wider despite himself. Robb commanded the servants to set the first course.

The supper was simple yet filling. There was buttered beets and mashed neeps, juicy lamb and a blood pie, all washed down with thick ale. Lady Catelyn scarce ate any, Theon noticed, neither did Queen Roslin. Robb just prodded a few shreds of beet across his plate for the entire meal.

Bolton gave Theon a hard look through his pale eyes. Theon understood the hint, realizing this was a good moment to persuade Robb to abandon his plans of battle. 'Robb,' Theon suddenly said, 'are you still intent of giving the Lannisters battle?'

Robb gave him a puzzled look. 'Of course I am. Are you suggesting that I let the Lannisters plunder freely through the North, like they did in the Riverlands, whilst we hide behind tall stone walls?'

'But Your Grace, the Lannisters have a long supply line and backups from the South. We lack both supplies and men to gain the upper hand in a battle.'

'We have your father's partial support, and the men of the Trident.'

'But Lord Barrowton and Lord Dustin do not have the capability to defeat the Kingslayer in battle. I beseech you, Your Grace, command them to fall back to their strongholds.' Theon turned to Roslin. 'Don't you agree, good-sister Roslin?'

Roslin blushed prettily. 'Me? I… I have no experience in the ways of war, My Lord.'

Lord Bolton interrupted brusquely. 'Your Grace,' said Lord Bolton, 'I have no doubt the Lords Barrowton and Dustin are fierce fighters and wise commanders, but the Lannisters number too many and are better equipped, and more are coming. We cannot risk half our host for a lost cause. I suggest, in this situation defensive positions might be best. Don't you agree, Ser Brynden?'

The Blackfish seemed a bit surprised to be called by Roose Bolton. 'Aye, I agree,' said he. 'Even the fiercest of your ancestors retreated behind castle walls in times of difficulty, Your Grace.'

Robb looked abashed to see he own uncle was against him. 'Retreat.' The king snorted. 'I retreated under the walls of Highgarden when Operation Brandon failed. I retreated from Duskendale when Randyll Tarly descended upon my columns with his knights. I retreated from the Trident when Lord Tywin attacked Riverrun with his host. I will not retreat again.'

'If you will not retreat, Your Grace, mayhaps words will prove to be more effective then swords,' said the Lady Catelyn. 'Negotiate with the Lannisters. Broker a peace, set down your crown and sword. Enough blood has been shed, we have reduced the Westerlands and the northern Reach to smoking wastelands, and the Lannisters have done the same with the Trident.'

Theon could tell how much it pained Lady Catelyn Tully Stark to urge her son to bend the knee to her husband's killers, and he admired her courage. She would make a fine ironborn, thought he.

'Negotiation. I've had enough of negotiation. When I die you can have plenty of negotiation.' After that rude remark, Robb left the table without excusing himself, Roslin hurrying after him. The Blackfish escorted Catelyn back to her chambers.

Bolton told Theon to follow him. Together they went down the staircase to the stables, where four Bolton men-at-arms were waiting with ten saddled horses.

'What are you preparing to do?' demanded Theon.

'I'm afraid Robb Stark has lost all means of sanity,' said Lord Bolton. 'I need to grasp the situation in my hands now. If we give the Lannisters open battle the entire North will be destroyed, and I cannot allow that to happen. I have always favored a peaceful land.'

'What are you planning?'

'I will be departing for White Harbor under a false name and find passage to King's Landing to offer terms of surrender. Not with that Boy King, with Lord Tywin Lannister. Lannister is no fool. He knows the North can only be ruled by a Northern House. He will need House Bolton to maintain the King's Peace in the North after the war.'

'Be careful,' said Theon, 'what you are suggesting is high treason.'

'Ah, Greyjoy,' said Bolton, pulling on his gloves and climbing his saddle, 'I have more urgent matters to consider. Such as when I meet Lord Tywin, do I bow or kneel?'

Bolton gave a little twist of his thin lips, maybe it was a smile. Theon could not find the strength to give one back. 'The Gods bless you,' he managed.'

At this moment, the stable doors opened and a figure strided in. It was Ser Brynden Tully. 'Lord Bolton,' said the Blackfish, 'I have been looking for you. You are departing?'

'Yes. I am heading South to inspect the defenses on the Kingsroad,' Bolton lied without even blinking. 'My bastard son Ramsay will be joining me with his men.'

'I was hoping to talk to you. This plan of his Grace, to command Lord Dustin and Lord Barrowton to give them battle… absolute madness, I tell you. I was hoping…'

'I fear our talk must needs wait. I need to depart now. You are always welcome to come talk with me at the Dreadfort.' Lord Bolton drove his horse out of the stable, his escort following. One of them barked a brusque command and the portcullis of Winterfell rumbled open.

Lord Bolton and his men disappeared behind a screen of snow.


	3. Chapter 3 The Lion's Claws

This story is a tribute to the 2004 German movie Downfall, and I am very sorry to inform that Bruno Ganz, the Swiss actor who portrayed Hitler in the movie has recently just died. May his soul rest in peace.

Chapter 3 The Lion's Claws

'Why would you do this to me, Father?' Tyrion asked quietly. He was no great general like Tarly or a strong warrior like his brother Jaime. He would die in the North.

'You are a Lannister. You have proved your valor on the Blackwater, now you shall have the honor to prove it once again in the North.' Cold amusement flickered through his father's eyes.

Maybe Tywin was hoping that a blizzard would come and swallow his grotesque son. Tyrion decided to not allow him that satisfaction. 'Very well, father, Lord Lannister. I shall do as you command, but if you are hoping I would die in the procedure I fear you will be sadly disappointed.'

Tywin gave no reply, but Mace Tyrell and Pycelle both looked shocked. 'Lord Tyrion should mind his mouth,' said Pycelle, Tyrell nodding in agreement.

'If you all are so eager to see me leave the city I will obey. I shall depart midday.'

'So early, Tyrion?' asked Uncle Kevan.

'The early soldiers get the best whores,' said Tyrion. 'I have an army waiting for me in Riverrun.' Plus, it would mean he would not have to meet Cersei and Joffrey.

'So, if my Lords will excuse me I shall be beginning preparations.' Tyrion bowed and retreated, going outside the doors. He pondered over his father's orders. Maybe his father just wanted him to die in the North, but then, father also hoped him to wed Sansa Stark as to claim the North for Casterly Rock. Tyrion wondered. The North would be perilous, but his army would have better equipment than the Northmen, and he would have Jaime. Tyrion could not think of what his father wished to achieve. Truly, Lord Tywin was a puzzling man.

'Summon Bronn and saddle some horses,' Tyrion commanded to Podrick outside.

'Horses?' The time was early and Pod was still groggy from sleep.

'Those big brown things with four legs. I'm sure you can recall them. And Bronn.

'Are we going somewhere, my Lord?'

'Yes. Winterfell. Now hurry.' Podrick ran away wide-eyed.

The sellsword was quick to arrive. 'Who pissed in your soup again?' demanded Bronn.

'My Lord Father. You'd think I've gotten used to the taste now.' Tyrion poured a cup of wine for himself. 'He has wanted me to go to the North to meet up with my brother Jaime with an army. He hopes I will capture Winterfell for him. You will accompany me.'

Bronn snorted. 'You? Leading an army? Not bloody likely.'

Tyrion looked hurt. 'I fought and won in the Blackwater, you know.'

'Your father won the Blackwater, you only survived because no one thought you worth the kill.'

Bronn was an amusing companion but he crossed the line too often and too far. 'Shut up. Get a dozen of your finest sellswords and prepare provisions.'

'If the Lord Halfman commands.' Bronn gave a mocking bow and retreated.

The rest were completed in less than two hours. Shagga son of Dolf would be joining him with fifty Stone Crows, Timmett son of Timmett with thirty Burned Men. He would be also accompanied of thirty members of the Lannister Household Guards. Not a large army, less than two hundred men, but enough to see him safely to Riverrun where his main host awaited him.

With a sharp blast of a trumpet the Lannister host left King's Landing in midday. They winded out of King's Landing and began a full speed gallop towards Riverrun.

Out of King's Landing the scenery was peaceful. There was fields of apples and barley and Winter Wheat, and roses and trees grew on both sides of the Kingsroad. After they left the Crownlands, the signs of war began to show. Skulls bloomed instead of flowers, many still with swords stuck inside. Hanged men littered whatever few trees left beside the road.

They had been riding all day. Tyrion commanded them to halt and make camp. Bronn's sellswords erected tents and Pod began trying to light a fire and failing. Bronn picked up a skull with a dagger in its eye beside a road. He plucked the dagger out, wiped in clean on a shred of cloth and tucked in in his belt.

'You're disgusting,' said Tyrion.

'It's good steel,' shrugged Bronn, 'it would be a crime to waste it.'

Shagga son of Dolf grunted. 'Shagga would like some good steel.'

'I just gave you a double-bladed axe,' said Tyrion, 'of the finest steel.'

'Two axes would be better. Two is better than one.'

After Podrick had successfully managed to light a fire they roasted a rabbit a Storm Crow had just hunted down for supper. Tyrion shared around a skin of wine.

The next day they left at first light. They had already entered the Riverlands, and weren't far from Riverrun. At noon the white towers of Riverrun finally began to appear before them.

A large Lannister host was encamped beneath the walls, some five thousand or so, Tyrion judged by their size, all mounted. A long wooden barrier of stakes was risen around the camps, and neatly duggen latrine trenches. Hundreds of campfire smokes rose towards the sky.

He strode inside atop his horse with the rest of his company behind him. He heard a few cheers from the men camped inside. He noticed many familiar Banners, of House Marbrand and Farman, Westerling and Plumm, Brax and Lefford. Here and there flew the odd banner of surrendered Riverlords, Lords Bracken and Vance.

He saw Ser Flement Brax, a childhood friend of Jaime's. Brax was wearing an expensive purple cloak decorated with quartz. 'My Lord. We have been expecting you.'

Brax barked a command and the gates of Riverrun rumbled open. Tyrion dismounted and allowed Brax to lead him to Ser Addam Marbrand, commander of the host.

Marbrand was a tall, handsome young man, another friend of Jaime's, with copper hair flowing to his shoulders, the finest Cavalry Commander of House Lannister. He was sitting in his study pondering over a map when Tyrion entered. 'My Lord.' Ser Addam rose when he saw Tyrion. 'You are most welcome at Riverrun.'

'Thank you. I do not intend to stay long, however.'

Marbrand nodded. 'As you command. The host is yours.'

Tyrion grinned. He liked being in command. 'Hurry up, we march for Moat Calin tomorrow at first light,' he said. 'No time for delay. We've got a war to win.'


	4. Chapter 4 The Oath

I feel that I should mention that this is not an anti-Stark story, but neither is it a pro-Stark story. I am trying to write the story without personal emotions mixed within.

Chapter 4 The Oath

They came along a sharp blast of a horn.

Jon was training when he heard the sound. He wasn't fighting well. He was too troubled about the news of the Lannister triumph in the south and was worried for Robb. He turned and saw the scouts on the wall were blowing the horn. Only once. 'Riders from the south!' One of the scouts roared.

Jon went to the gates to find a ring of black brothers were there, eager to see who was coming. Life was dull up at the wall and a bit of drama was much welcome. Jon discovered Sam and Pyp were there as well. 'Who's coming?' he asked.

'Lordlings,' said Pyp. 'Got a long trail of men and tall banners. Some arrogant southern lord, most like.'

Had the Lannisters come so far already? That was impossible. Jon squeezed further forward for a better look. Through the open gates rumbled in a flood of men, horses and banners.

'Who's in charge here?' roared the one at their head, a giant seven foot tall.

'That's Jon Umber, the Greatjon, Lord of the Last Hearth,' mumbled Sam to Jon, 'my father feasted him once back in Horn Hill.' Jon recognized him. His father also feasted Jon Umber once.

'I am.' The black brothers hastily parted a path as Lord Jeor Mormont walked towards them, Maester Aemon trotting behind him. 'Lord Jon. It's been a long time.'

'Aye, a long time indeed.' The Greatjon nodded. 'The last time we met was when Robert cast down the Targaryens.' The Greatjon dismounted along with most of his company. He was wearing a shirt of chainmail and thick furs. This man would tower over Hodor, thought Jon.

'Why have you come, Greatjon?' asked the Old Bear.

'For men.' The Greatjon looked around the yard. 'Decree of the Young Wolf, King Stark. He says he'll need you to donate 500 rangers to Winterfell. Worry not, for every man fell, when the war is done, we'll give three back, along with a thousand fine soldiers.'

'No.' The Old Bear's reply was as gruff as he was.

'Did you just say no to a King's decree, Mormont?'

'Yes.'

'Gods be praised. I thought you said no.'

'My answer is no, My Lord. I cannot allow the Watch to join a war of your southron kings.' The Old Bear spoke with a quiet dignity.

'You speak as if you forget you are a Northman. You are standing on Stark land.'

'King Brandon and King Jaehaerys granted these lands to the watch.'

'This land belongs to the young wolf. He is the one who feeds you and gives you coin and black breeches to put on your asses. I've shipped you crows corn, grain and wheat even when my own folk were starving. It's past time you payed your debt a little.'

'My Lords,' said Maester Aemon slowly, in a quiet voice, but even the blusterous Greatjon silenced to hear, 'the watch has never participated in a Southern war and never will. We have been summoned by kings many times, Stannis and Renly, Joffrey and Robb, but we have never joined them. We will not join you Wolf King, My Lord, but neither will we join his enemies. The Watch is neutral as it ever was, and forever will be.'

The Greatjon wanted to say something but failed. 'Remember, Randyll bloody Tarly is marching up the Kingsroad,' he finally said, 'and we're the only ones protecting you from them. Be it on your own head, Mormont.' The Greatjon mounted his horse, leaving, but reined up before Jon.

'You, boy,' said Umber, 'you're our king's brother. Jon Snow. Tell me true, Jon Snow, do you want to earn glory for your kingdom or freeze to death in this cold hell?'

'I am a sworn member of the Night's Watch,' said Jon quietly.

'You're a coward, I say. I ask you. Do you serve Robb or that bastard Joffrey?'

'I do not know, My Lord, but I certainly do not serve you.'

Greatjon seemed infuriated by that remark. His right hand reached for his belt, as if reaching for his sword. In half a second, Jon's hand was on Longclaw, Pyp produced a bow and several others unsheathed their swords and daggers. Ser Allister Thorne strode between Jon and Jon.

'You touch a man of the watch, you die, Lord Umber,' Ser Allister spat, sword in hand.

'Pah. Bloody bastard crow.' After said, Greatjon Umber rode out upon his horse, his tail following him. The gates slammed shut behind them. The Black Brothers unsheathed their weapons.

'Well what are you all looking at? Get back to your posts!' Ser Allister bellowed. They retreated to their posts, and Jon returned to the training yard, trying to forget what just happened. He just defied his brother, a king's orders.

None of the Black Brothers were talking about what just happened. Kings were a forbidden subject here up at the Wall, since old loyalties die hard. Jon and the Old Bear were for Robb, definitely, though they did not show, and Sam's father served first Renly then Joffrey, so Sam was probably for the Lannister, as for Ser Allister Thorne, he was a Targaryen loyalist so his loyalty most likely laid with that Targaryen Queen in Slaver's Bay, Daenaera or Daera or something of the sort.

The wall was weeping when Jon received the summons in the evening.

'Lord Mormont, he wants to see you, Jon,' Jon was still training with the new recruits when the Sam came with the summons. On the way to the Old Bear's chamber Jon noticed the wall was weeping. That was odd, he thought, for temperatures so cold.

Mormont was waiting for him in his chambers, a cup of steaming beer to one hand and a quill to the other. 'I saw you were there in this morning. You did well,' said Mormont.

'I kept my oath, My Lord.'

Mormont nodded. 'I hate that boy Joffrey as much as you do, Jon Snow, trust me, and I am for Robb Stark, but I do not let personal feelings interfere with the decisions of the Watch.'

'A wise decision, My Lord.'

'Try not to end every sentence with 'My Lord', Snow, it makes you sound dead.' Mormont grabbed a few specks of corn and fed them to his pet raven. 'Snow, corn, Snow, king,' the raven sqorked.

Mormont sealed the letter with a glob of black wax. 'Aemon's received a raven from the South. The Lannisters have over ten thousand cavalry stationed in the North now, and they're having some sort of a race with the Tyrells, to see who can take Winterfell first. All nonsense, I tell you.' Mormont sighed. 'I don't mean to disregard your brother, Jon, but Robb Stark has already lost the war. One of my recruiters, Lync, he was down south in the Barrows and reported seeing a battle between a host of Northern infantry and Tarly knights. He said Randyll Tarly, your friend Sam's father cut apart the Stark host like knives through cheese. He's driving for Winterfell.'

Jon did not know what to make of that news. 'I have faith in Robb, My Lord.'

'You shouldn't. Even the gods couldn't help him right now. Other than Tarly there's still the Lannisters to content with, the Kingslayer and his dwarf brother own another ten thousand horses and they're racing the Tyrells to Winterfell. Your brother has lost the war, Jon.'

Jon Snow braced himself, standing a bit taller. 'Why are you telling me this, My Lord?'

'I am trying to point out, that your brother Robb, and your other brothers will die. Brandon will die, Rickon will die, the Lady Sansa will be captured south as a hostage. Could you still keep you vows in these situations? Won't you be at least a little troubled?'

'Aye. I will, My Lord.'

'And what will you do?' Mormont was studying Jon closely.

'Be troubled, and keep my vows.'


	5. Chapter 5 Lions in the North

Chapter 5 Lions in the North

A sharp blast of trumpets roused them.

Podrick was at his feet at once scrambling for Tyrion's axe. Pod had nice instincts, thought Tyrion, with a good teacher we might make a fine knight out of him. 'Don't bother,' Tyrion called to him sleepily, 'the Northmen don't use trumpets, they use horns. That'll be my brother Jaime.'

Jaime Lannister came at the head of a column of knights, glittering gold from head to heel, though Tyrion did not fail to notice he donned his white cloak of the Kingsguard. The Lords Marbrand, Crakehall, Brax and Swyft accompanied him.

'Brother,' said Tyrion, 'it's been a long time.' Snowflakes fell all around him.

'The Lannister brothers are finally reunited,' Jaime grinned, 'handless and noseless.'

Ser Daven Lannister was with Jaime, Tyrion's favorite cousin. 'Coz!' roared Ser Daven, a big man with long golden hair and beard, 'but it is good to see that ugly face of yours again. You took so long to come we were worried a Stark army got you.'

'Did you shed bitter tears for me, coz?'

'Well, the whores in camp were. You're famously lavish to them, you know.'

Tyrion grinned. Ser Daven reminded him of Bronn, though Daven was much better-mannered. 'May I introduce some of my fine companions,' Tyrion pointed at a few of his men freshly risen, 'Here is Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, and here is Shagga, son of Dolf, and I believe you both know Ser Addam Marbrand and Ser Flement Brax.'

Many greetings were made. Shagga seemed asleep on his feet half the time. 'Come into my pavilion, Jaime, coz, we have matters of war to discuss.'

When they entered the Tyrion's pavilion he was pleased to find Pod had left a merry fire crackling in the brazier. Ser Daven pulled off his gloves with his teeth and warmed his hands over it. 'So, then, our father is hoping for us and the Tyrells to race against each other. Is that true?'

'I fear it is. And the prize is the North.' Tyrion told them the detailed plan.

Daven laughed. 'That is just like your father. Ensuring maximum efficiency through competition.'

'So how is the Tyrell army faring?' Tyrion asked out of curiosity.

'Better than we are, for sure,' Jaime said. 'Randyll Tarly just won an excellent victory somewhere west around Castle Cerwyn, and is driving directly for Winterfell. He's got the Tully soldiers all pinned down. The Starks are setting up lines of defenses. Garlan Flowers has proved to be a fine commander and soldier.'

'You are finer, brother, and I am finer still,' jested Tyrion. 'I am confident we can win this race with the Tyrells. Together we field nearly ten thousand chivalry, enough to drive for Winterfell and reach it before Flowers.'

'I don't think so,' said Daven. He drew out a parchment map from his belt. 'You there!' His cousin shouted to poor Podrick, 'bring me quill and ink, NOW!'

Podrick managed to stammer a yes, and dashed off, returning later with a pot of ink and a quill. 'Are you a Payne, boy?' Asked Ser Daven as he dipped the quill, 'you have that pimply look.'

'Ye…y… yes, My Lord,' Pod stammered.

'You're every bit as talkative as your cousin Ilyn,' Daven remarked. He spread out the map and drew a long, crude line west of White Harbour. 'From here, to here,' Daven pointed, 'House Manderly has built a formidable defense line. They were one of the first houses to retreat from the Trident so they had sufficient time to build up this line. It's an earth wall topped with stakes, followed by a deep trench guarded by White Harbour soldiers. Specifically designed to withstand a cavalry charge. To storm it would consuming both in time and men.'

'The Tyrells did not encounter a similar problem?'

'The Starks did not have enough time to build up a line of defense in the west. Flowers simply found a gap and charged right through.' Jaime said.

Tyrion studied the map closely. It was a long defense line, right along the path their army would go. He noticed a small gap where a mountain was. 'What about here, coz?' Tyrion pointed at the gap, 'is this a gap?'

'No,' said Daven after some squinting, 'the Manderlys didn't build defenses there because that damn mountain is more formidable than any defense. It's steep and covered with woods.'

'Is there no way we could sneak through this place and bypass the Manderly defenses?' Tyrion studied the map closely. If they could get through the mountains it would be a swift ride to Winterfell. 'A small road off the maps, a vale in the mountains, a goat track?'

'There is a goat track there,' Jaime pointed. But it's too narrow, it can only let past a single man on a horse…' Jaime stopped abruptly as if he realized something.

'Precisely.' Tyrion said. The strategy formed in his mind. 'If we abandon our heavy equipment, such as wagons and siege equipment, we could pass through the goat track.'

'…and the Starks would never expect our attack there.' Jaime laughed. 'I've been training for war since I was five, I've been taught Warcraft by the Archmasters of the Citadel yet I am outsmarted in matters of war by my brother.' Tyrion grinned.

'But what about my siege machines,' said Daven in a mourning tone, 'I had them shipped all the war here from Riverrun.'

'Well… if you are loathe to depart with them we could always use some more firewood,' Jaime suggested, 'its getting cold.' Daven laughed. Tyrion called for a cup of wine.

It was well over an hour before they reached an agreement on the tactics. Daven would launch a fierce attack on the eastern defenses with his heavy war equipment, whilst Tyrion and Jaime led the lighter cavalry through the goat track. After that they would split into two armies again. Tyrion's fresh divisions would launch an attack on the northern side of the lines, catching the defenders from both sides and make a breach, allowing Ser Daven to pass with the heavier cavalry. Jaime would be driving for White Harbour and the main Manderly host, pinning down their forces, catching them by unawares and cutting their supply lines. Once the Manderly threat was eliminated Jaime's army would make a full speed gallop to join with Tyrion, and push towards Winterfell.

Jaime proposed a toast, Tyrion gladly agreed. His mouth was dry from all that talking. Pod poured three cups of mulled wine and they toasted, Jaime still slightly clumsy with his left hand.

Tyrion admitted parts of the plan had come from Oberyn Martell. 'Blitzkrieg, he called it,' said Tyrion, ''Form a heavy hammer and do not disperse,' he advised me. Some Rhoynar war tactic.' Their next toast was to the Red Viper.

'With this mighty plan we will triumph over both the Starks and the Tyrells,' declared Daven after a few cups of wine. 'We will capture Winterfell first, deliver it to Casterly Rock and take Sansa Stark to be the bride of my dear coz.'

Yes, thought Tyrion. But then what?


	6. Chapter 6 The Downfall

Chapter 6 The Downfall

Winterfell was hastily preparing for war.

Lady Catelyn rode along the Kingsroad, snow melting in her hair, inspecting the defenses with two guards and Ser Rodrik Cassel. Soldiers were shouting and cursing, planting wooden stakes in the ground, placing caltrops and tripwires, digging trenches. The enemy was coming.

The Tyrell Host under command of Lord Randyll Tarly had begun pushing towards Winterfell at a horrifying speed, smashing through the hastily assembled defense lines of Lord Cerwyn and destroying Lord Barrowton's host, destroying over half of her son's infantry. Her son had plunged into a tearful rage that day, and confined himself to his chambers for most of that day. A scout from the South had also reported that another Lannister host under command of that thrice-damned dwarf would be joining the Kingslayer in a second attack from the east.

I should have hanged that evil grotesque when I had the chance, thought Catelyn bitterly. She wanted to cry, for Ned, for her son, for Arya, for the Riverlands, most of all for herself. But she could not. Self-pity was a luxury she did not deserve.

They passed line after line of defense. She noticed a lonely line of wooden stakes, behind them a hastily dug trench with about ten soldiers defending them. She saw that two of them were children. They reminded her horribly of Bran. They were about the same age, seven or eight, although they looked nothing like her sweet Brandon they did remind her of him. She rode over.

'Who is in charge of the defense line?' She asked.

A portly knight came and saluted her. 'I, my lady. Ser Henry Woodhull.'

'Why are there children in this defense line?' Catelyn pointed at the two.

'They are soldiers, My Lady. King Robb has commanded every man above seven years old must fight. Lync here,' Ser Henry pointed at one of the children, 'had fought with the Tyrells with Lord Barrowton and slew two Tarly knights. He has been awarded a sword for his courage.'

The older the war, the younger the soldiers, thought Catelyn, and this war has been raging on for well over a year. 'You lack equipment. What do you mean to defend this trench with?'

'We have spears and scythes,' the other child said proudly, 'we are using planks as shields.'

'Do you think a plank shield will stop the Tyrell chivalry? They are coming for Winterfell and they will bring heavy horse and lances. You will need armour, shields and a proper defense to stop them. When Lord Tarly comes storming up with his men you will not withstand the first charge.'

'We are soldiers. We have sworn an oath to the Young Wolf.'

'Are words more valuable than young lives? Ser Henry, I command you to disband this defense group at once. Ser Rodrik, you will see to it that more proper defenders are acquired.'

'Aye, My Lady.' Ser Rodrik Cassel nodded. When they strode away from the trench, Ser Rodrik rode up beside her. 'My Lady,' he whispered, 'that was ill done.'

'I could not help,' she replied, 'the children reminded me too much of Bran.'

Rodrick nodded. Catelyn knew his own daughter, Beth Cassel was also fighting, as a healer, along with several other girls under the command of a Volantene woman, Maegyr.

Under the portcullis of Winterfell Rodrik barked a brusque command and the portcullis raised. Before the gates were many Northmen, old and young, all lowborn villagers, trying to seek refuge from the battle behind Winterfell's high walls. Robb had tried to let them in, but they were too many and Winterfell was not a large castle, so Robb had to command for them to be kept out of the city. Several of them tried to force their way in when the portcullis raised, but were beaten unconscious by Stark guardsmen in grey cloaks and thrown back out.

Even with the refugees outside Winterfell was still full to bursting. There were men everywhere, soldiers and knights and lords. A hundred banners flew from the ramparts. She noticed Lord Bolton's and Lord Umber's were missing. 'Where is Roose Bolton?' she asked Ser Rodrik.

'I know not, My Lady. He left several days ago.'

'And the Greatjon?'

'He's gone north to the wall, My Lady.'

She returned to the great hall where he son was. As usual her son was sitting on his throne, locked in war council with the lords. 'Your Grace, I do not know how to express this, but the Blackwood and Darry garrison in Castle Cerwyn must retreat, otherwise they shall be obliterated,' her brother Edmure was saying heatedly.

'We have retreated enough, Uncle,' Robb looked tired, 'command Tytos Blackwood to fight where he stands! Castle Cerwyn is the only thing that lies between Winterfell and the Tarlys.'

'But then we shall lose the Blackwood forces entirely, Your Grace,' the Blackfish said quietly.

'I think not. My Lords, I have come up with a strategy. A mightly counter-attack, driving Randyll Tarly back and freeing Castle Cerwyn. I shall lead the attack myself, and we shall strike from north and west, blunting their cavalry charge with heavy infantry, giving them no choice but to retreat.' Robb pointed at a map of the North, to a few small clusters of forests surrounding Castle Cerwyn. 'These woods are ideal for an army to hide. We shall catch them unawares.'

'With what troops, Your Grace?' The Blackfish asked.

'The men of Houses Frey, Mallister and Whent stationed on the West Coast along with the several hundred Ironborn King Balon has given us will attack from the west, whilst we strike from the north.'

'I fear my men are unable to attack, Your Grace,' Lord Jason Mallister said, 'they are stranded deep in enemy territory and are outnumbered five to one. Attack would be suicide.'

'Then command for Lord Manderly's heavy horse to join the attack from the east. They shall attack first, clearing the way for us and the Frey, Mallister and Whent men.'

'But Your Grace, the White Harbour men are garrisoned in their defense lines, to stop the Kingslayer's host,' Edmure said, rather unwisely.

'Then tell them to _Turn Back North!_' Robb made the last three words a curse.

'But Your Grace, that would completely expose the Eastern Front to the Lannisters…'

'Are you questioning my orders, uncle?' Robb's tone had grown dangerously angry. Even at a very young age, Robb's wrath was a fearsome thing, Catelyn knew. Grey Wind, lurking in a corner rose and began prowling around Edmure, its golden eyes unblinking.

'I BELIEVE, I HAVE EXPRESSED MY ORDERS CLEAR ENOUGH!' Robb roared, rising to his feet, sounding more like a child than a king.

A long silence followed. Robb ordered Olyvar to bring himself a cup of iced water. The King slowly drank, Grey Wind prowling at his feet. None dared to speak.

Outside, the snow raged larger and larger.


	7. Chapter 7 Traitors within

Chapter 7 Traitors Within

Robb was growing thinner, Catelyn worried.

He ate less and less each day, and seemed to have lost his appetite entirely. Sometimes he had to be reminded to eat. Catelyn watched as he probed a shred of beets around his plate. She could almost see the shape of his skull beneath the skin. His pride is wounded, thought Catelyn, the series of defeats and retreats wounded his soul.

Thankfully Robb seemed a bit more cheerful tonight. Mayhaps he has come up with some master plan to win back the north, thought Catelyn, trying to be hopeful.

Other than her, her uncle the Blackfish, Edmure, Sers Edwyn and Walder Frey, Lord Jason Mallister and Lord Piper were with them, Robb had decided to sup with the River Lords tonight. He was chatting about military tactics, and Lord Jason seemed particularly interested.

'The heart of winning battles is to strike where the enemy does not suspect,' Robb was saying. 'I won the Battle of the Camps and the Whispering Wood both with this strategic, striking the enemy in the rear. Both of these battles were great victories.'

'Aye. One surprise army is stronger than a hundred thousand men,' Lord Jason agreed.

'For the Lannisters, I think a similar tactic could be used. A surprise attack on the Lannister camps in the night… that would not entirely destroy their army, I fear, but when Lord Bolton's bastard son joins us with his heavy infantry we shall be able to give the Lannisters a good battle. I assure you, I will not allow the Kingslayer to slip from my fingers this time.'

Ser Benfrey Frey entered the room, in his hand a long strip of parchment. He whispered something in Robb's ear. Robb went white. He spread out the parchment, his eyes moving back and forth slowly. A vein began throbbing on his temple.

'Roose Bolton… has offered unconditional surrender in name of the North to Queen Regent, Cersei Lannister in King's Landing.' The Freys put down their forks and shared an uneasy glance. Lord Piper was startled, so was Edmure. Uncle Brynden did not seem much surprised though. 'A spy in the South has reported this to us…' Robb put down the parchment. It curled up again as if eager to hide up its secrets. Robb was fuming, his face as red as his hair.

'Bolton… out of all the possible betrayals, _Bolton_? Why would he do this… he was the loyal of the loyal, my strongest bannerman… THIS IS THE WORST BETRAYAL OF ALL!'

Robb stormed to his feet. He ripped a dagger out of his belt and began stabbing the parchment savagely until the letter was reduced to nothing but shards. 'Umber, yes, a blusterous brute, Manderly, a fat coward, yes, but not Bolton… why would he do this… Do you know how did he gain the power to negotiate? He must've said I am sick! _Maybe he told them I'm dead!'_

Robb sat down breathing heavily. He grabbed a fistful of paper shards and threw them back to Ser Benfrey. 'Send a raven to Lord Hornwood and Lord Manderly,' said the king after gulping down an entire cup of wine, 'command them to gather a hundred men and march for the Dreadfort. Tell Maester Luwin to draft a paper, denouncing Lord Roose Bolton of all lands, title and honors. Let him be known as a traitor. I claim his lands and men for Winterfell.'

'You three, stay, the rest of you, My Lords, please leave.' Robb pointed at the Freys and the Blackfish.

Catelyn made to leave but was stopped by Robb. 'No, mother, you stay as well.'

'And bring me Theon Greyjoy!' Robb shouted to the Lords Mallister and Piper, 'I heard he's being spending suspicious amounts of time with Bolton recently, mayhaps he knows something.'

'But Your Grace, we've lost Theon Greyjoy…'

'What do you mean, lost him?'

'We haven't seen him in the Castle for two days…' said Piper.

'Then _bring him to me!_' Robb roared. 'I want a report at once!'

'Yes, Your Grace,' said Mallister and Piper, hastily leaving.

'Please sit, Mother, My Lords.' Robb turned to the Freys. 'Ser Walder. I am aware that your bastard brother Walder Rivers is leading a resistance in the Riverlands.'

'Aye, Your Grace,' said Black Walder, 'talk is he's joined up with the Brotherhood without Banners.'

'We have several more groups of men scattered around the Crownlands, Westerlands and maybe as far south as the Kingswood and the Reach,' added the Blackfish, 'but we've failed to make contact with them.'

Robb nodded. 'Good. I want you to find a way to contact with your brother. See that he does everything he can to make sure Bolton is apprehended to justice.'

'I shall, Your Grace,' Ser Walder Frey nodded.

'Great-nuncle Brynden, you also have orders. Under Winterfell there are vaults stuffed to the brim with fat bags of silver, and there is more in White Harbour. Take as much as you can carry and cross the Narrow Sea, to Braavos and Pentos and Lys, maybe as far as Volantis and hire Sellsword Companies. Unsullied would be ideal, but I heard some idiot bought all of them. Do not return before you have ten thousand men. If I am alive you will join forces with me. If not…' Robb sighed. 'You will do whatever you can to avenge my death, and name Bran or Rickon the King in the North. Am I clear, Uncle?'

'Your Grace… I have chosen to remain here and die for my country with you.'

Robb looked touched. 'Thank you, Uncle, for your loyalty. But Bolton is a traitor, maybe Theon as well. He must die for his crimes. I made a good decision of keeping him out of my plan.'

'What plan, Your Grace?' asked Ser Edwyn Frey.

'Did you think I would just meekly allow the Lannisters to storm through the North? No, My Lords, no. This is all part of the plan, to lure the enemy into a false sense of security, they will soon wake up. In the North, Lords Umber and his nuncles are gathering a second army, in the East we still have the Manderlys and soon the Bolton forces. In the west we have a strong garrison of Freys, Whents and Mallisters. In the east Lord Wyman has built up an impregnable defense line, sufficient to strand the Kingslayer's host south of the White Knife whilst we deal with Tarly, who is deep in our territory without a supply line or backups.' Robb pointed at a map on the wall. It was his custom to hang maps instead of tapestries.

'Manderly's cavalry will attack from the east first, catching Tarly unawares, forcing him to use all of his forces to defend the attack, freeing up the men of the Trident to join the attack from the west. Then I shall attack myself, with my own good Stark Men from the North, capturing and destroying the Reach host in a pincer movement. Then we concentrate our forces to deal with the Lannisters.'

The Blackfish was surprised. 'I did not know Manderly had so much men, Your Grace.'

'He was the first to retreat once Lord Tywin took Riverrun. He did not suffer much losses.'

Catelyn felt reassured. She was almost glad to know her son would be going to war, that he had a plan to drive the Lannisters out of the North.

Servants entered and cleared away the meal, scarcely touched.

'Your Grace!' at the moment Catelyn prepared to leave Lord Piper burst in, panting heavily. 'Your Grace… we've searched the castle, Your Grace. Theon Greyjoy is lost.'

'What do you mean, Theon is lost?' demanded Robb.

'He is nowhere to be found in Winterfell, Your Grace.'

'Then keep on searching! Maybe he is in a whorehouse somewhere outside.' Robb's rage started to come back again. 'If he chooses to flee at this time he is a deserter… a traitor! You bring me Theon Greyjoy, Greyjoy! Greyjoy, Greyjoy!' Robb smashed his fist against the table.

Her son sat down fuming, a fat drop of blood welling at his knuckles. 'You bring me Theon Greyjoy right now,' said Robb, slowly, 'and I will hold trial over him myself and ask him why. Before I cut his head off.'


	8. Chapter 8 The Son of the Sea

Chapter 8 The Son of the Sea

Theon was drunk. Too drunk to remember things.

His last memory was in an alehouse. He seemed to recall a band of men capturing him. His body hurt, he seemed to have been beaten. He noticed the bands on his wrists. Lines of faces were watching from either side. The tall white candles shone an eerie light. Flickers of flame danced around with shadows and smoke, like demons. Like ghosts. The light hurt his head. He felt like he was in a deep pit.

Everything seemed queer, like a painting with too bright colors. The men above him, sitting behind a tall table were wearing cloaks too black, their faces too white. And their lips, their lips were red and thin to a grotesque, redder than blood, redder than fire.

Those lips were moving with a sternness and coldness. The syllables of his names were mentioned. Theon Greyjoy moved his head and recognized Robb Stark. 'Robb…'he muttered.

'The prisoner has awoke.' Robb's figures were twisted, like a tormented soul. He sat in a tall chair with two other shadows, one pale, one dark. Above them the statues of the Stark Direwolves hissed and snarled at him, the cold stone statues coming to life in his drunkenness.

'To your feet, Greyjoy!' a large shadow roared. He lacked the strength and was pulled roughly to his feet. He saw the three men on the high table. Robb Stark, Queen Roslin and the Blackfish.

'Theon of House Greyjoy, you are wanted for high treason and desertion. How do you answer to the crimes?' His voice rang over and over and over in his brain, driving him mad.

'I…' he had prepared something to speak but was too drunk to remember.

'It is evident you tried to flee,' said the Blackfish, 'and I saw you chatting with Roose Bolton before his left. How do you answer to this evidence?'

'I… I did what I should… I…' Theon was frightened. The tall white candles suddenly grew grotesque, too bright for him too look at, almost frightening, demons with heads of flame.

'The subject appears to be incapable of speech,' said Brynden Tully.

'If the accused is incapable of defending himself he is guilty,' said Robb, as the lines of faces to either side of him murmured agreement. Their voices rattled through his head like the echoes in an empty room. Guilty, guilty, guilty, the voices went, guilty…

He means to kill me, thought Theon in a fit of panic. He couldn't die, he didn't want to die, he couldn't die so far from the sea… how would he make his way to the halls of the Drowned God? 'Robb, please… mercy…' Theon begged through unmoving lips.

Robb was unyielding. 'A traitor is a traitor,' said Robb Stark, the King in the North. His red lips writhed with deadly locution, the decree of his death issuing out of those lips.

'Mercy… Roslin, tell him… I don't want to die,' Theon mumbled to Roslin.

Roslin was horrified. 'My love, you don't actually mean to execute him, do you?'

'It is evident he has tried to flee. He is a deserter and a traitor.'

'But what use is it, Your Grace?' Roslin was begging Robb. What a good girl, thought Theon drunkenly. 'Think of my poor sister… she is betrothed to him, she loves him…'

'He is a co-conspirator of Bolton, we have evidence now. He is a traitor, no mercy may be shown to traitors.' Robb leaned over his chair and kissed Roslin's cheek. 'I am sorry, but he must die.'

'But what good will be achieved of it, Your Grace? Why would you do this?'

'_Because I want to,'_ Robb snarled, sounding as harsh as he looked in Theon's eyes.

Roslin sat back in her chair and looked at Theon, very scared.

'Theon Greyjoy, I, Robb of the House Stark, King of the North and of the Trident, Lord of Winterfell do hereby sentence you to death for high treason and desertion.' Robb at Theon. Obvious repulsion went through his eyes. 'This beast is not worth of death by sword,' said Robb, 'gather a squad and shoot him with crossbows.'

Crossbows? Crossbow was no honorable death. 'Sword…' Theon begged. 'Please…'

His plea was ignored. The straps bounding his wrists were freed. He was pushed outside the gates roughly by two men.

The bright sunlight outside hurt his eyes. The cold wind smashed into him like a wall, catching him off balance, all the blood of his body coming up to his face. The sky was very blue, blue like Roslin's eyes, and the sun was very white. He stopped and blinked. A soldier behind him drove the butt of his spear into Theon's knee. He fell to the floor writhing with pain.

'Walk, Greyjoy!' A voice commanded him. Ser Rodrik Cassel, he thought.

Slowly he pushed himself to his feet and walked forwards, the Stark soldiers to his back, through the yard of Winterfell. A perimeter had been set around the yard, and many men were around watching. He saw a few children playing 'come into my castle' nearby with only a wooden plank. He smiled, remembering how he used to play the game as well when he was young.

_If only I could be seven again. I'm too damn old._

Slowly Theon walked through the length of the yard, enjoying the sunshine as much as he could, for he knew this was his last chance. The gravel on the floor made noises as he shuffled along.

'Halt,' he heard a voice command. He stopped and turned. A line of Stark Guardsmen stood behind him, all with crossbows in hand, loaded and pointed at his chest. Theon realized he was about to die. Hastily he fastened the clasp on his coat, trying to look more presentable for his death.

He raised his hand in a salute and screeched, 'what is dead may never-'

He never got to finish the sentence. He screamed as he plunged down into the eternal darkness.


	9. Chapter 9 The Manderly Line

Thank you so much for the mostly positive response. If you have any ideas of improvement for the story please feel free to leave constructive criticism. Today's chapters are slightly longer than usual, so enjoy!

Chapter 9 The Manderly Line

Ahead of them was a dense forest, hidden in the morning mist, blanketing tall dark mountains, with one lonely track winding through and disappearing in the depths of the woods.

'This plan of yours had better be good, brother,' said Jaime Lannister, who had donned a simple shirt of ringmail instead of golden armour. 'I'm not crossing that mountain for nothing.'

'You wound me, Jaime. Name one of my plans that wasn't brilliant.'

'Let's think. That time when you were fifteen, and tried to bring your whores to court, That time when you were eighteen, when you tried to run out to the Free Cities. That time…'

'I said name one,' Tyrion said scornfully.

Jaime grinned. Behind them the sea of Lannister Chivalry had formed into three long lines, all consisting of light horse with no banners. Ser Daven's heavy horse had departed several hours ago, making for the east to launch a fierce attack on the defenders. Jaime and Tyrion had some six thousand horse between them. A quarter of them were knights, looking far less splendid than usual without their banners and lances. The mercenary Ser Bronn's sellswords were in the rear, some of them riding on mules, donkeys, one even rode a zorse. Tyrion's clansmen and their shabby horses were nowhere to be seen: the savages had left yesterday into the woods to scout a path. They had sent back word saying they had found a clearing in the woods and set a camp there.

Slowly the mass of chivalry unwinded into single file and streamed into the woods, Jaime at the van as usual. Their passing was more peaceful than Jaime could ever hope. The track was rough and thin but passable, and the trees blocked most of the snow. In a long strip the Lannister horses winded through the mountains.

Tyrion's pet sellsword Bronn came galloping up. 'Thought I'd join you lot,' said the sellsword, 'when the path's still wide enough for me to come up.' Bronn was a tall man with a weathered face, wearing a leather jerkin so used it looked as if it had been through the pits of hell.

His brother Tyrion scowled. 'I thought I commanded you to hold up the rear.'

'Too damn boring in the rear. Thought I'd ride to the van and have some fun.'

'I fear you'd be sadly disappointed. All parts of a Lannister army are equally boring.'

'Ser,' Jaime asked Bronn, 'I have never truly had the chance to know you. Where have you fought before?' Jaime was curious.

'I've fought here and there. Killed a few right men, got promoted to be a knight.'

'Ser, I've been to Winterfell in the north, Pyke to the west, Sunspear to the south and Lys to the east, but I've never been to a place called here, nor there.'

'Looks like you've found a tough match, Bronn,' said Tyrion.

'Well… I've fought in every place without good plunder, it seems to me.'

They rode on, chatting for several minutes. The track began to grow steeper and the wind grew fierce, snapping at their cloaks as if it was a living thing. The air grew colder and thinner. The Lannister column was forced to slow down.

Before them was a long, deep ravine, with one lonely bridge of planks across, twenty foot long and two foot wide. Jaime jerked up his horse and commanded for the company to halt. 'What do we do now?' asked Tyrion. Jaime could hear the rear of the army murmuring.

'Dismount, and lead our horses across,' he commanded. Seeing that no one was volunteering to lead, Jaime was forced to go first. He dismounted Glory, his warhorse.

The first six foot or so was fine. The planks were neatly nailed into the ground on both sides and was firm enough. But after the six foot, the plank grew slightly narrower. The wind snapped at his clothing, threatening to push him off. When the planks groaned, Jaime's heart stopped beating. 'Father protect me,' he whispered, before he remembered he was in the North: these lands belonged to the old gods. And the gods would most likely push him down than save him.

He could hear his own ragged breathing. He could hear some of the men behind him laughing. They enjoy seeing the Kingslayer being afraid, thought Jaime. Well try to walk over this damn bridge and not be scared, he wanted to roar. Slowly, he carefully walked another step. He could feel the vast emptiness to either side of him. It was as if the world was spinning around him.

The other side caught him by surprise. He quickly walked the last few steps and sat down on the other side, Glory trotted after him. Cheers rose from the men on the other side.

Slowly, ever so slowly the rest of the army began to pass. Tyrion went through fairly nicely, which was not surprising since he did manage to make the climb to the Eyrie twice. Addam Marbrand, Jaime's closest friend, the most daring person Jaime ever knew simply galloped across laughing, his long copper hair streaming. Podrick Payne, Tyrion's squire had to be helped across by Bronn. One idiot lost his balance and crashed screaming down to the depths with two other men, but other than them the Lannister army managed to pass without mishaps, thought it took half of the day.

After a short while of marching they found the camp Tyrion's clansmen made, a ring of tents in a circular clearing in the trees. 'Why does halfman take so long to come?' Their commander, a huge savage in skins demanded, 'Shagga grows tired waiting a day.'

'You try making the trip in an hour,' replied Tyrion.

'This track is flat and smooth. In the Vale is where the mountain tracks are steep.'

The Lannister army rested for a while in the camps before they went on. Jaime in the van rode much faster than he would've liked in a mountain, but he wanted to reach the other side before nighttime. Nighttime was dangerous in the mountains, for there were shadowcats and wolves and Stark assault parties. Three men stationed on this track would be able to bring down three hundred of his own, thought Jaime. Thank the gods the Starks didn't garrison this road.

The path grew wider as the mountains grew flatter, and soon the most part of the Lannister army struggled out to the other side of the Manderly defense line, where the forest ended at a large field of grass. Tyrion Lannister gave a cheer. 'You head for White Harbour, I join Daven, and then it's off to Winterfell,' Tyrion said to him.

Suddenly a warhorn rung, a deep mournful note. The sound came from the east. Jaime glanced east, and saw horrified, an entire army was coming, screaming and shouting.

'Battle positions!' Jaime screamed to his men. 'Flement, your divisions are with me, Addam, you have the right, take the knights.' Jaime glanced at Tyrion. 'Brother. Take your sellswords and Clansmen and hold up the left.' Tyrion nodded and departed, his savages and sellswords after him.

Jaime studied the army. They seemed to be flying the Merman banner. Jaime squinted at them. They were mostly heavy horse, Jaime noticed, but they were in poor battle formations. Most likely they were caught by surprise as well. They caught us in a good time, thought Jaime, a sizable portion of their army was still struggling through the tracks and unaware of the battle. Jaime estimated the Manderlys had about five thousand horse, more than his own and better armed.

A northern warhorn sounded, Aroooooooooo, it went, as cold as chilling as the wind they had just experienced. Jaime commanded the Lannister trumpets to be blown in response. 'Maneuver!' Jaime commanded to his men, 'drive north hard! Then strike south at 'em again!'

Arrows whistled through the air, laying down several of his men. Jaime remembered Tyrion had bought some mounted bowmen. He commanded the Lannisters to return fire. His divisions rapidly galloped north. The Manderly heavy horse did the same, but their speed of their charge was broken. Tyrion's men found high ground and defended it, his savages fighting fiercely. Addam Marbrand had the best men and knights, so he launched a charge into the rear of the Heavy Horse, his sword laying waste as he went. 'Good job!' Jaime shouted to him when they were close enough.

Jaime's horses wheeled around and met the Manderlys in battle. Sword rattled on sword as both sides engaged in bloody battle. Jaime unsheathed his sword gilded with gold, the same sword that had sipped the blood of Aerys Targaryen II. 'For Casterly Rock!' he roared.

Snow began falling over the battlefield, and the two armies fought in a field of white. A fool charged towards him, a lance in hand. Jaime dodged the iron tip. When the Northman tried to ride off and charge at him again, Jaime caught up with him a drove his sword up his chest. The dead man was carried off slumping by his galloping horse.

One of his men was fighting a tall Northman with a Warhammer. Jaime rode forward. Since none of his men had shields or any heavy equipment they were vulnerable before hammers. Jaime galloped forth in aid. 'Die, Lannister!' The Northman slew his soldier and fiercely swung his hammer towards Jaime in a murderous arc, Jaime dodged it nimbly. He was pleased to see his instincts were not dulled by the removal of his hand. 'No, you die.' The tall man fell to the ground.

Jaime had his men gathered and started a second charge. They maneuvered east and struck again in the Manderly rear. The Northmen turned back and started fighting.

The sun was almost set when the Lannister trumpets sounded again, when Lord Viserys Plumm emerged out of the mountains with seven hundred horses that had lagged behind around him, and charged towards the already scattered Stark Host. The sheer impact of his men drove a gap between the Stark host, and men began pouring through, tearing their heavy hammer into pieces. Jaime was pleased to see more men were steadily trickling out of the mountains to join the attack.

The last shards of the Manderlys vanished before their charge much like mist in the morning.

Many words of praise were given to the Lord Plumm that night when they set up a fortified camp. 'The Northmen were trying to make a breakthrough on our side,' Tyrion, cradling a wounded elbow admitted, 'if Lord Plumm didn't distract them we would be dead, I fear.'

'I fear lagging behind is nothing to boast of, My Lords,' Plumm said modestly.

'Jaime!' Addam Marbrand appeared, leapt off his bleeding horse and strode into the tent, 'I've got a captive who has something you might want to hear.' Ser Addam gestured and two knights escorted in a tall fat man. 'This is Ser Wyllis Manderly, son of Lord Wyman, commander of this host. He has useful information on why they were here.'

'Aye,' Ser Wyllis said, he sounded like he was wounded. 'His Grace Robb commanded us to make west with all our heavy horse and attack Lord Tarly's divisions. He said he would be joining us in the attack soon.'

'So the Young Wolf is attempting to trap the Tarly army deep in Northern territory. A pity he did not anticipate us coming. You seemed to have missed a gap in your trenches.'

'We did?' Manderly gaped.

'You allowed six thousand men to pass through your defenses unmolested. Truly, Ser, with commanders as yourself no wonder Robb Stark is losing this war.' Jaime dismissed the captive.

'I suppose you shall have no need of annexing White Harbour now that their main forces are eliminated,' said Tyrion, all we need do is to let Ser Daven through.'

'And then it's off to Winterfell.' Jaime smiled, and called for some wine. He wasn't a heavy drinker, but tonight he decided he would match Tyrion cup for cup.


	10. Chapter 10 That was an Order

Chapter 10 That was an Order

His dream was queer and cold, chilling to the bone.

He was under Winterfell in the crypts, dissolving into infinite darkness on either side, a thousand dead kings looking at him with stone eyes. The only light was a flickering torch. 'Braaandon,' a voice was calling him, 'Brandon… here.' Bran looked around, seeing nothing but darkness.

He turned and saw Robb. 'Robb,' Bran asked, 'where are we?'

Robb did not answer. Bran looked closely and saw Robb was dead, a long arrow drove into his chest. Bran looked around with fear. 'Fly or die,' he heard a hoarse voice scream, 'fly, fly, fly.' A golden man pushed him off a tower, 'the things I do for love,' he said.

He saw the heads of dead wolves mounted on spikes. He saw dragons flying under the sunrise, long winged shadows flew across the earth. He saw an iron rose blooming in Winterfell, thorns gleaming steely light. Boom, boom, boom, a wardrum went.

Brandon Stark screamed, and woke. He wasn't falling, neither was he in the crypts. He was in his bed drenched with sweat. It was but a dream.

But the booming sound was not. He could hear the sounds outside, from the south, sounds of stone and wood collapsing. What was happening? Did the Lannisters come so soon?'

'Hodor?' The giant man came. 'Hodor, dress me.' Hodor lifted Bran up and garbed him in thick furs, with gentle yet strong hands. 'Bring me to Robb. Do you know what those sounds are?'

'Hodor hodor hodor,' said Hodor. He lifted Bran up as if he was no heavier than a doll and began descending the stairs, Bran gently rocking in his hands.

'Hodor,' Bran agreed. The stableboy smiled. He liked it when people said his name.

Outside the largest snow Bran had ever saw in his short life was raging. Only a few steps outside of the tower he resided within it was out of sight, lost in a sea of snow. 'Be careful, My Prince,' a voice of which he could not see the speaker said, 'the enemy's throwing stones into the city.'

Thankfully they were not attacked by stones. The booming noises lasted all the time but sounded fairly far. Bran and Hodor were in the middle of Winterfell but could not see Winterfell. The snow was deep to Hodor's knees, for a man of average height it would be up to his thighs. Both Bran and Hodor were covered with white flakes when they stumbled into Winterfell's Great Keep. A band of men were already there, dripping wet with melted snow. Obviously they had just came in from outside as well. Bran noticed Greatjon Umber among their midst, a giant of a man taller than Hodor. They seemed to have just came in same as them. Robb was asking them something.

'Why is Winterfell under catapult bombardment?' Robb asked them.

'Winterfell is under catapult bombardment?' asked Jon Umber.

'Are you deaf, My Lord? Cannot you hear the sounds of them?'

'I thought the snow was playing tricks on my ears, Your Grace.'

'Well those are catapults, and the Southern Gate of Winterfell is almost in ruins. This storm makes it impossible for us to send out men so we cannot attack the attackers. A raiding party must have took the high ground around the castle and built long-range catapults there.'

'No, there are no raiding parties on the southern rills.' One of the Greatjon's men entered to great hall and whispered in Lord Umber's ear. The Greatjon frowned. 'Your Grace, my uncle Whoresbane has just scouted the Southern gate. He says that is no raiding party, but the vanguard troops of Lord Randyll Tarly, and there are no long-range catapults, only average ones.'

'You are telling me, that the vanguard of the Lannisters has already breached through our defenses on the Kingsroad, and is within bombarding range of Winterfell? And I only just knew?' Robb asked Lord Umber incredulously. 'I should have hanged you lot when I had the chance!'

'Your Grace, I had no way of knowing that…'

'The Lannisters are just outside my gates and you had no way of knowing? And no one told me, I had to ask you myself! Absolutely unacceptable!' Robb was furious.

Robb stormed away sullen, Grey Wind at his heels, his mother Catelyn following after. Bran felt sick. The Lannisters were close to Winterfell now, and Robb had no means to stop him.

Every time he ate with Robb, Robb would always tell him cheerfully, though his cheerfulness was somewhat strained, that the whole situation was in control and the Lannisters would lose the war. Robb sounded so confident Bran believed him, but now even Robb seemed to be out of control of the situation. Bran hoped he could be as brave as Robb was.

The bombarding lasted well into that day. Around midday Robb called a war conference. Bran went to look and saw Sansa. 'Is that Stark catapults attacking outside, Bran?' Sansa asked him.

'I don't think so.' Bran told Sansa what he heard Lord Umber say in the Great Hall.

'But how could Lord Tarly reach Winterfell so fast? I thought Robb said that Lord Wyman would be launching an attack with his Manderly cavalry? Robb told me this attack would change the outcome of the whole war.' Sansa looked especially beautiful today with flushed cheeks and bright blue eyes from the cold.

'Everyone close to King Robb knows that's nothing but a fantasy, My Princess.' Lord Rickard Karstark, a big fierce man squeezed by the lines of men and overheard their conversation. 'Even if Manderly could reach Tarly the attack wouldn't change much.'

'But why would Robb lie to us?' asked Sansa.

'What does he have to lose,' grunted Lord Karstark, before entering the conference chamber.

Bran peered into the chambers. A large map was spread on the table, a detailed one of the North, the Blackfish, his mother, Uncle Edmure, Lord Karstark, Lord Umber, Lord Flint, Lord Mallister and the Sers Walder and Walder Frey, and several other Lords Bran could not quite recognize. Sansa would know them, he thought, but Bran paid little attention to Maester Luwin's lessons about houses. Lord Mallister was pointing at the map, moving around units.

'The situation is not favorable. In the east, the Lannisters have breached the Manderly defense line, in south Lord Tarly's main force has reached the Winter Town, a mere five miles from Winterfell, and Lord Glover reports seeing Lannister raiding parties as far west as Deepwood Motte. In the South Torrhen's Square has fallen after a fortnight of siege,' Mallister said.

'I believe, when Manderly begins his assault the situation will be under control again,' Robb said.

'Your Grace… Manderly… Manderly…' obviously Lord Mallister was scared.

'Manderly's main host was set upon by the Kingslayer and destroyed. Lord Wyman claims he does not have enough men left to attack. He has failed to carry out the assault,' the Blackfish said.

Bran expected Robb to rage and curse. But Robb did not, he just stared at the map dully. 'Manderly has failed to carry out the assault,' he murmured. His eyes were dead. That frightened Bran. The last spark of fight had ran out of Robb, it seemed. He was defeated.

Robb slowly, ever so slowly removed his crown, his head drooped. After a long silence Robb finally spoke. 'Nuncle, Great-nuncle, Mallister, Karstark, Umber, you five will stay in the room.' The rest of the Lords poured out eagerly. Bran noticed his mother stayed as well, though she was not named.

Once the lords were out, Robb suddenly raised his head, the ball of anger condensed in his chest rose to his head, two gusts of fire raging in his eyes, his face red as his hair. His features twisted, as if a maddened Direwolf. It was frightening to see Robb's kind face twist in fury, it was like when your favorite little dog bared its fangs and attacked.

'_That was an order!' _Robb raged, shrieking, his voice inflaming the air, sweat steaming from his hair. 'Manderly's attack was an order! Who does he think he is, to defy an order that I give? So it has come to this situation… Everyone has been lying to me, even you lot, my sworn bannermen! You Lords are nothing but a bunch of incompetent COWARDS!' Robb's face went from an angry red to a pale green, white foam on his lips. All the rage Robb condensed in the war exploded.

'Your Grace, I fear I cannot allow you to insult our soldiers,' said the Blackfish.

'They are COWARDS, TRAITORS AND FALIURES!' Robb roared, his pupils shrinking horribly.

'Your Grace, this is unacceptable!' The Blackfish replied.

'You Lords are the disgrace of my Realm. Not a shred of honor!' Robb Stark grabbed a wine cup from the table and flung it full in the Blackfish's face, droplets of red wine exploding everywhere. The Blackfish stood with a quietly dignity, looking at Robb silently. For an instant Robb looked scared for what he did.

That fear vanished a second later and the anger exploded again like wildfire. 'For too long, you lot have defied my orders! You have put every possible obstacle in our path to victory! Your all claim to be fierce fighters, years of training as squires and knights only taught you how to shoe a horse! What I should have done… was to hang all of you lot when I had the chance, like JOFFREY!' Robb shrieked with a fierce hand gesture.

Slowly the anger and strength and defiance drained out of Robb Stark. He sat down slowly, supporting himself with the table, as if his rage had drained the strength out of him. Something flickered and died in those blue eyes. Bran could see it. Robb was defeated.

'I was but a boy when I ascended the throne,' murmured Robb. 'I hadn't complete my training, I was a green boy, only wanting to avenge my father, yet I made the Lannisters tremble. These traitors… from the very start, I have been deceived and betrayed! They have just committed a huge treason against the realm… But they will pay, Manderly and Bolton will pay, with their own blood they will pay, they will drown in their own blood!'

Sansa was crying. Bran wanted to comfort her but he would only be clumsy.

'All my orders have been ignored… how can I possibly rule in this situation? It is over now, the war is lost.' Robb sighed, his head drooped low. Many lords exchanged glances. 'But if you think I will flee, you are wrong, I would far rather drive a sword into my heart than leave Winterfell. Do whatever you want, it is all over now.' Robb sighed again, much heavier.

After some silence, Robb began to cry.


	11. Chapter 11 Battle in the Snow

I think it is necessary to mention that the others will not appear in this story. At the very least they will not affect the outcome of the battle at Winterfell.

Chapter 11 Battle in the Snow

On the walls of the western portion of the Winter Town Ser Garlan Flowers saw the Stark propaganda, scrawled hurriedly in white paint. 'Every man of the North shall take arms, and we shall stop the lion hordes under the walls of Winterfell.'

'Someone should've made mention to them we're roses, not lions,' he jested to Dickon Tarly, son and squire of Randyll Tarly, shouting to make himself heard above the snowstorm.

Dickon Tarly laughed. 'Rose or lion, they still can't stop us.'

True. In the Winter Town was stationed over nine thousand Stark soldiers, most of them hastily gathered and poorly trained, and over fifty thousand civilians fleeing from the war, denied shelter in Winterfell. Ser Garlan's men slew both alike. It was glorious.

His own men launched a rain of arrow on the Starks, they answered with stones. The elder and the weak were fleeing, desperately crying for their family. The men fought with each other for the finest weapons. Some flamed ale bottles and threw them at his army, a long gust of smoke trailing behind them. Arrows and stones were raining on them from the top of every roof, and darkness, blood and chaos was everywhere.

Garlan slew two Northmen with his sword and kicked one's head into a bloody horror with his horse. They rode down most of the Northmen on the street but a few had built up crude defenses or were garrisoned in fortified buildings. They were also consumed by the storm of steel but inflicted many casualties upon them. Some of them hid behind a hasty line of wooden stakes, aiming crossbows at them. The Reach army answered with longbows.

All the men on the battlefield had lost all sense of reasonability by now, they had forgot about their old mothers and children, the only thing in their eyes was their enemy and the only thing in their minds the lust to kill them. Like trapped beasts they roared and charged.

He saw he had lost Dickon, and turned his horse around to search for him.

Despite having the obvious superiority fighting through the Northmen was a pain. They had fortified and garrisoned almost every building, and each man fought to his death. Still, they were outnumbered and gradually overwhelmed.

A man who rode beside him was caught in the throat by a bolt. Blood trickled out of his mouth as he collapsed from his horse. Garlan turned and saw, at his right was a stout wooden inn with two stories, its doors barred, on the second story a dozen of Northmen were firing arrows and flinging stones at them. Two knights were going at the barred door with warhammers. More men were firing back at the defenders. Garlan grabbed a torch laying on the ground and flung it at the inn. The inn blazed, giving a blinding light as well as the deafening screams of the defenders.

Screams sounded in front of him. He noticed Dickon Tarly galloping back with a dozen horse around him. 'Northmen!' Dickon screamed, 'Northmen everywhere!'

Before they parted Randyll Tarly had warned them of a Northern war tactic they called the Hailstorm Charge. 'The Northmen are savage like animals, and like animals when they are trapped they grow mad,' Randyll Tarly had told him. 'I fought Northmen in Ashford in Robert's Rebellion, and when I shattered their van and pinned down their main host Lords Hornwood and Cerwyn launched a Hailstorm charge. They charged at our lines with everything they got, screaming "Hail Robert", and other mad things such as that, charging at our lines with a thick wave of men. We threw them back and slew all of them with lines of spears, but they severely damaged my divisions and several of my boldest knights were maddened at the sight of Northern bodies littering the entire battlefield like a thick black carpet.'

It was one thing to be warned about it, and quite another to actually see one. Under the tall dark shape of Winterfell's walls thousands of hastily gathered Northern soldiers stranded outside the citadel decided to launch a Hailstorm Charge. 'Robb, King Robb, the Young Wolf,' thousands of Northmen screamed as they charged towards his horses with scythes and spears and sticks and stones, all ragged and starved and frozen, some of them younger than Dickon. Yet in their eyes burned the fires of revenge, their passion burning bright.

'Hail Robb!' They screamed as they charged towards Garlan's men, an imposing storm raging towards them. Some of the knights were so startled they stopped fighting and gaped.

'What are you looking at, idiots?' Shrieked Garlan, 'kill them!'

His men recovered to their senses and charged towards the Hailstorm, lance and longsword against sticks and stones. The two sides engaged in bloody battle, Northman on foot and the Southron on horses. Although the Southron had the obvious advantage the Northmen all fought to the death and none surrendered. Soon the Northmen were all swept aside by the tidal wave of knights. A thick, unbroken mass of corpses covered the earth like a blanket.

The fighting raged for a long time. After the last of the Northmen were swept from the streets his men dismounted and burst in every house, slaying the last of the defenders, though losing some men in the vigorous room-to-room fighting. Garlan lost track of all time, but judging by the lights in the sky it was around midday. His watch proved him correct.

After the western Winter Town was under control Garlan joined up with Randyll Tarly's own corps, stationed south of Winterfell launching occasional catapult attacks of the South Gate. A third portion of their army was already east of Winterfell, slowly encircling the great Stark citadel in a ring of steel.

The snow was slightly lighter when Garlan reached Lord Tarly's army, still cold and wet but was not as bad as it was before. At least he could see Winterfell's walls clearly now. In Lord Tarly's camp he saw a host of catapults ready to fire.

A dozen of hastily erected catapults, all well-used lay before Tarly's army. His men were erecting another dozen. 'We've been bombing Winterfell for all of last night, but only with stones. We're gonna feed those Wolves hidden up in there fire now, let the Starks melt,' grinned Ser Hyle Hunt, one of Lord Randyll Tarly's household knights, a pleasant man with a rich smile.

Randyll Tarly emerged from his tent, a hard man with a tall structure and deep blue eyes. 'Dickon, Ser Garlan,' Lord Tarly greeted. 'I presume you have overwhelmed the resistance in Winter Town.'

'Aye,' said Garlan, 'we encountered one Hailstorm Charge but the Northmen did not inflict much casualties upon us, My Lord.'

'Good and better.' Randyll Tarly declared. 'Hailstorm charges are stupid in military sense, yet still may inflict great damage upon unseasoned commanders. You have done well.'

Garlan felt proud to be given praise by one of the finest commanders in Westeros.

'Why are we firing at the castle, Father?' asked Dickon. 'Should not we be storming Winterfell? If we breach the castle walls before the Lannisters come so we can win the race?'

'We shall fire on the castle until Matthis Rowan returns from the North and rejoins with us,' announced Randyll Tarly. 'Until he arrives and completes the encirclement of the city we shall bombard them with catapults, preparing a breach for the storming. Winterfell has tall thick walls, a headlong attack would not be the wisest route.'

'Where are we aiming for?' asked Garlan.

'The Great Keep, the Maester's Tower and the Godswood.' Slowly the greased ropes on the catapults winded and the pine wood groaned. Soldiers carried barrels of tar and stacked them aside.

'Open fire on the capital of the rebel Kingdom of the North,' then, from Randyll Tarly's lips thundered the tremendous words of command. The fresh catapults groaned and flung barrel after barrel of flaming tar into Winterfell with a deadly rhythm. These did not make the hollow booming sounds the old catapults made, but rather a sickening crunch and a whoosh of flame. They could hear Northmen screaming and stone crumbling and collapsing. Fires blazed through the snow.

Garlan noted the time from the delicate watch he bought with him. It was exactly the middle of the hour of the falcon. Hundreds of barrels of burning tar were thrown into Winterfell, when they ran out of tar they threw stones, then the corpses of the dead Northmen in Winter Town.

The bombarding lasted all the day and well into the night, and thousands of stones smashed into the center of Winterfell.


	12. Chapter 12 Dying Wolves

Chapter 12 Dying Wolves

'I, Robb Stark…'

Maester Luwin spread out the sheet of parchment and began to transcript his King's last testament and will. He dipped the quill in a pot of ink and began writing down the words in shorthand. He tried to control his hand from shaking. Robb Stark slowly dictated his last testament and will.

'I, Robb Stark have served as the King of the North for only two short years, yet I have managed to accomplish and lose more than any previous King has ever done. Now with the war turning against us due to lack of capability of my generals, I do hereby state my last will and testament.'

Luwin noticed his hands, usually so strong and deft were shaking ferociously. He pinned down his wrist and forced himself to write in neat shorthand. The King had decided to state his will after the scouts reported Lord Randyll Tarly had encircled Winterfell. The Greatjon, Ser Brynden Tully and Ser Rodrik Cassel stood as sacred witnesses to their King's will, Greatjon fresh from the Wall. Lord Umber was amongst the last few to enter the castle before the siege.

They were in a basement deep below Winterfell's great keep. With the Lannister bombarding Winterfell day and night Robb had commanded all high-ranking lords of the North to retreat into the bunkers dug beneath Winterfell. There were no windows in the room where they were in, only a dull lamp, and Luwin felt claustrophobic. He tugged at the choker at his neck.

'All my earthly positions of value shall belong to my Kingdom, and if the Kingdom ceases to exist then no further decisions of mine are necessary. Save for my fine collection of maps, of which I gift to my half-brother and friend Jon Snow at the wall, as reward for his long years of friendship.'

'When such a moment comes when I am dead or incapable of ruling the Kingdom of the North, I nominate my Great-nuncle Ser Brynden Tully to be Hand of the King and Protector of the Realm and have full authority to make all decisions, about the realm or the war, until such time when a suitable heir presents itself. If Ser Brynden is likewise incapable, I nominate Lord Rickard Karstark, after him Lord Jason Mallister, after which Lord Jon Umber. '

'It is my most sincere wish that these may be duly executed. Finished.'

Maester Luwin drew up the parchment and handed it to Robb Stark. Robb looked.

'Good. Make a few official transcripts.' Robb fixed his seal and signed the document. He strode out of the room, Lord Umber and the two knights followed him. Maester Luwin sighed and began copying the document. He slowly scrawled a copy, than another.

He began to think, of himself. He was certain Winterfell would fall, but then what? He was no warrior, if he managed to survive the storming he would most likely be arrested by the Lannisters and thrown into a camp. As a Maester of the Citadel the Archmaesters would surely offer a handsome ransom to the Lannisters for him, but would the Lannisters be willing to let him go? He gave sage council to the Starks many times, he was one of the men who came up with Operation Brandon and he wrote many orders authorizing massacres of Lannister Prisoners of War. He decided if the Tarlys breached into Winterfell he would choose death over humiliation.

Someone rapped at the door. Luwin rose and opened it, and saw it was the Lady Catelyn, her face pale white and her eyes red. She had obviously been crying.

'Lady Catelyn,' Luwin asked, 'what has happened?'

Catelyn closed the door behind her. She looked at the verge of tears. Lady Catelyn Tully Stark, the strongest woman he ever knew was at the brim of crying. 'Robb… has just commanded me to leave Winterfell before Matthis Rowan closes in from the North,' Catelyn finally managed.

Luwin was not surprised. Randyll Tarly had not finished the complete encirclement of Winterfell yet, he was waiting for Lord Rowan to lead his portion of the army to fill in the gap in the north. No doubt Robb saw this as a last chance for the Lady Catelyn to escape.

'Maester Luwin, I have never disobeyed an order of my son before. Never! Now he orders me to leave him and escape…' A tear welled up at Lady Catelyn's eye. She rubbed it away savagely with one hand. 'I have never defied his orders before, but I will defy this one! I shall remain at Winterfell with him, to the bitter end.' Lady Catelyn broke down and cried.

Maester Luwin rose and patted her. 'It is all right, my lady, have a good cry,' he murmured softly.

Lady Catelyn tore away from him. She straightened her posture. 'Maester Luwin… I wish to dictate my last will and testament,' she said solemnly.

'My Lady, I'm making copies of His Grace's last testament.'

'I see.' The Lady Catelyn had a queer expression on her face, mingled sadness and horror. 'I… will not be bothering you, then, Maester.'

'Another day, perhaps,' agreed Luwin.

'One more thing, Maester. I shall require a dose of Sweetsleep.'

'Of course, My Lady.' Luwin had bought a wooden case of the common herbs and potions down to the bunker complex. He produced a small glass beaker filled with clear liquid.

'One drop can soothe ragged nerves and shaking hands and make the user feel strong and calm. Two drops will give a long, peaceful and dreamless sleep. But beware of an overdose…'

'I am clear of the consequences of an overdose, Maester,' snapped Catelyn, taking the beaker and leaving. Maester Luwin suddenly, horrified, realized why Catelyn wanted Sweetsleep. He wished to chase after her but it seemed inappropriate.

He spent the rest of the long day pondering over Robb Stark's last testament and the best methods of suicide. He decided for Sweetsleep as well, it was a merciful poison. In the afternoon he left the bunker and went to the battlements, and saw another horde of Lannister horse was appearing from the North. Matthis Rowan had finally arrived to Winterfell. Now, with Rowan's divisions joined up with Tarly's corps Winterfell was fully encircled.

Luwin watched as the choice of fleeing was taken out of his hands.

He was copying another copy of his King's will when he was summoned to war council.

The counseling room was not full. Only Lord Umber, Ser Brynden, Lord Flint and Lord Mallister were in. Mallister was bending over a large map sprawled on the table reporting the situation.

'Your Grace, Winterfell is under heavy siege now. The Southern Gate is in critical condition, we have managed to repair the damage inflicted by Lannister catapults but it is still weaker than it used to be. In the North, Rowan's corps have joined Tarly.'

'If Tarly decides to storm the castle, how long could Winterfell hold?' Asked the king.

Not if, thought Luwin, when.

'Even at the best guess, after the walls are breached Winterfell can only hold for two or three days,' Mallister said.

'Your Grace,' Ser Brynden stepped up. 'As a soldier I advise you to try and break through the siege lines. Lord Rowan has just arrived and has not set up proper defenses and trenches, I advise to lead a skirmish and try and break through. Your Grace…'

'His Grace cannot be disappear from history as a coward!' roared the Greatjon.

'Even if I can break through the lines of the Lannister cavalry,' Robb slowly said, his voice hoarse and rough as if he had not been sleeping at all, 'I would only be leaving one encirclement to enter another, and await my end out in the wild. Our best choice would be to hold firm.'

Robb pointed at the map sprawled on the table, the marks of the wine cup he flung at the Blackfish still clear to see. 'In the North, Lord Umber's uncles still have another army and in the south there is a stout garrison at Castle Cerwyn. If they can attack and break the siege…'

'Your Grace, I have received a raven about the matter,' Luwin remembered. 'Mors Umber and his host are trapped between the Lannisters and Long Lake, and the garrison in Castle Cerwyn has been overwhelmed and destroyed.' Luwin was trembling.

'Have they.' Robb Stark did not seemed to be surprised or angry about the information. There was nothing in his eyes but boredom. 'Find a way to tell Mors Umber to drive for Winterfell no matter what.'

Slowly, Robb Stark rose, and left the room. Around the door, he was blocked by Lord Flint, freshly arrived from above and covered with dust from the battle. 'Your Grace,' said Flint, 'we are out of arrows and oil in the battlements. Please give instructions.'

Robb raised his glance at Flint. 'I forbid you or any high-ranking lord in my kingdom to surrender,' said the King. 'Trust me. Mors Umber will come. He will come.'

Slowly the King walked out of the chamber. The second the door slammed shut behind him, Ser Brynden Tully shouted, 'I only want to know if Mors Umber is capable of attacking!'

'Mors Umber's pitiful little army… is not enough to make a difference…' Lord Jason said slowly.

'Why cannot my uncle make a difference?' shouted the Greatjon.

'Because Umber does not have enough troops to even SAVE HIS OWN ASS!' Bellowed Lord Jason Mallister, in a terrible voice that made even the Greatjon seem scared.

'Then are you mad, Mallister?' demanded the Blackfish. 'Why didn't you tell His Grace that Mors Umber is not capable of attacking?'

'Do you think His Grace does not know?' demanded Lord Flint. 'He will never retreat or flee again, neither will I. I've already fled once in Seaguard, and once is ENOUGH!'

The Blackfish looked around incredulously. 'I need to get out of here,' he mumbled, and left the room. Maester Luwin scurried out of the room as well, retreating to his bunker.

There, he slowly took out another small glass bottle of Sweetsleep and hid it up his sleeve. He expected to be using it soon.


	13. Chapter 13 The last fightback

Chapter 13 The Last Fightback

Ser Garlan Flowers decided he liked the North.

Other than battle this icy cold land had given him some more earthly entertainments. He gazed at the whore before him, still refusing to believe he had the luck to find such a woman.

Her name was Sarra, a young woman of twenty years or so, the same age as he was. She was short and delicate, with fine features and honey-blonde hair. She was one of the few captives they had took from Winter Town. Garlan had claimed her as a prize of war.

He had taken her a few times. She was good.

'Milord seems troubled,' Sarra whispered to him. 'I have a fine treatment for that.'

Garlan grinned. 'I hope it's a long treatment.'

'That would depend on milord.' She smiled and slowly began to unlace his breeches.

'Sorry, My Lord, but Ser Garlan is…' he heard noises outside his tent.

'I'll show myself in,' he heard the gruff voice of Randyll Tarly answer.

Gods be good, not now… he groaned as Tarly entered. 'You could've came at a better time, Lord Tarly,' he complained as Lord Randyll strided into the tent with a gust of cold wind.

Tarly looked at Sarra, one eyebrow risen as if slightly amused. 'I was not aware you had company, Ser.' He turned to Sarra. 'Pray leave at once, My Lady.'

Sarra fled the tent, garbing herself as she went. Garlan watched her fine legs longingly.

The second she left, Tarly scowled. 'She could've been a Stark assassin, you know.'

'She slayed me well.' Garlan stretched himself. 'I had nothing to do. War is surprisingly boring.'

'You could've read.' Said Tarly, 'or anything that does not require Northmen.'

'You may enjoy to read, My Lord, but I enjoy more… earthly means to pass time.' Garlan yawned. He was aching for Sarra. 'I hope you have a good reason to come, My Lord.'

'Aye, I do. We're beginning the storming early. Three hours later.'

'What time is it? I lost track.' Sarra had a talent of making him do so.

'An hour past midnight.'

'Why are we launching an attack so soon?'

'The Kingslayer is driving in for Winterfell. We had too long of a delay waiting for Rowan. We need to take the castle now if we wish to win the race.'

'And what part do I play in the storming?'

'Tomorrow at first light you will lead our vanguard to charge into Winterfell. The Northmen seemed to have hastily filled in the damage our catapults inflicted their walls. They have used sacks of soil and gravel, even corpses,' said Tarly.

'Then how are we supposed to get through?' Garlan demanded.

'I trust you have noticed that we have several small leather sacks in the baggage train.'

'Aye. You specifically said those had to be taken extra care.'

'And they well should. Inside those sacks are Myrish Saltpetre. Ammonium Nitrate, the Maesters call it. An extremely rare substance, even across the Narrow Sea these come at a high price. Thankfully Mace Tyrell was feeling generous. Those things are like solid wildfire, except ten times more dangerous. They'll blast open at a heavy impact, destroying everything around it.' Randyll Tarly seemed rather pleased of himself. 'They couldn't blast through six foot of solid stone, but more than sufficient to clear a loose rabble of gravel and soil.'

'So… if we threw them to the walls of Winterfell, they would blast them open?'

'The South Gate has been bombarded for a day now, they would be shattered by the explosion.'

'And we could just… charge right through?' It seemed too simple for a siege.

'Of course. But take note to let your strongest men throw them. These things will not explode unless at a very hard impact.'

Garlan nodded. Tarly seemed pleased. 'Tomorrow at first light we shall storm Winterfell, before the Lannisters come. We're the victors of The Race now.'

Garlan was pleased as well. He loved his half-brother Loras, and was glad he had the honor of winning a beautiful young bride for him. He prepared eagerly and the time flew past.

He gathered his men three hours later. Two thousand horse belonging to the houses Tarly and Costayne. The grand citadel of Winterfell stood ahead of them, the south gate battered by the thousands of stones flung by their catapults but still dark and formidable. They stood at some distance from the gates, for the defenders were flinging stones at them.

He had commanded for his men to arm-wrestle with each other and choose three victors. The winners were three huge men. One was a brute, one a bully, one a bastard.

He opened the leather sacks from the baggage train and commanded each of the three to pick out one chunk of the Saltpetre. They were white, as large as his fist and the surface rough to make sure it would not slip out of hand. The three men each took one. At his command they flung them at Winterfell with all their strength behind at his command. The three small white rocks disappeared into the distance, and for an instant Garlan worried they did not reach the walls, or failed to explode.

Suddenly, a huge, deafening noise roared through the autumn air like some great dying beast, as a cascade of black smoke rose towards the skies. When the smoke cleared, a huge crater appeared in the wall, stone crumbling like stale cake. Northmen swarmed across the crater like ants, hurriedly repairing the damage with more stones and sacks and even corpses.

'Again!' Garlan commanded to the three men. They grabbed three more chunks of the Saltpetre. Three more black flowers bloomed on the walls of Winterfell, bringing down many Northmen as well, the strong current blasting men off the battlements. No more stones were thrown at them, due to the defenders all being dead. Another was fired, than another, until a gap large enough was blasted. Smoke and rubble bloomed through the sky like a deadly black flower, as stones blasted into pebbles and gravel rained on both the defenders and attackers.

'This is so much better than Wildfire,' commented Dickon Tarly at his side.

'And the Lannisters still think they're so invincible with that green piss,' said Ser Hyle.

Once the outer wall collapsed, the inner one did not last longer than its twin. Garlan called for a charge of his army. He was the first one over the blasted wall. 'Highgarden!' he roared, his sword unsheathed for all to see. 'For Highgarden!' His men cheered, streaming over the rubble, a sea of bright shining armour. Right inside Winterfell's gate was a long stone pavement leading to the yard, with tall buildings to either side. A few of them were destroyed by the explosions, but most were intact. He was not surprised to discover the Starks had fortified several of the buildings and garrisoned them with crossbowmen. He had lost a great deal of men in Winter Town's house-to-house fighting, so he simply commanded for the houses to be burned down.

The people of Winterfell fought hard, that must be admitted. Men bursted out of thin crooks and hidden doors to assault them, and in every piece of high ground bowmen were stationed. The battle was thick and confused. A knight was dragged down his horse screaming by a group of children and brutally stabbed to death. The Starks had set up long lines of chains and caltrops to stop their horses, and many of the defenders were armed with long spears.

Garlan decided for a headlong charge. Right now his army had the superiority of arms, and he decided to use that superiority to its full extent. A quick charge would break through their defenses fairly quickly, and allow the street to be freed for more men to enter the city.

There was somewhat of a defensive moat at the southern entrance to the yard, a collapsed portion of the bunkers below Winterfell that filled in with melted snow. There was a thin layer of ice on it, too perilous to pass. They took planks from the buildings beside to form some sort of a crude bridge across, as men crossed the thin moat. The moat wasn't of much use, but it certainly slowed them down. But that did not stop them entering the yard.

The Yard of Winterfell was the primary target of the storming except for the Great Keep itself. From the yard there were straight passways leading directly to the bunkers, the Godswood and most of Winterfell, both giving themselves advantage and preventing the Stark forces around the castle to aid each other. They expected heavy resistance storming the yard.

There wasn't any.

All the resistance they had met in the entrance seemed to have dissolved to mist. There was none in the yard defending, no one in the buildings beside firing at them. Had the Northmen deserted Robb Stark to a man? That seemed unlikely.

Something was wrong here, he thought. 'Fan out,' he commanded to his men, 'beware of an ambush.' He was almost expecting an ambush. He had men stationed in the street, if Robb Stark tried to attack from their rear he would pay dearly.

Come here, Robb Stark, and I'll give you a second Duskendale.

Suddenly with a groan something collapsed. He jerked his head back and saw a building behind them just collapsed, blocking the entrance to the South Gate with a mess of logs and planks. Several men and horses were crushed beneath. Garlan, and 1000 soldiers or so were trapped in the yard, cut off from all backups. Almost in an instant men popped up on the buildings all around, firing at them from above, turning the place into a killing yard.

'It's a trap!' he screamed. Dickon Tarly was still in here with him. He did not care if he himself died here, deep down he actually slightly wished to die so he could gain honor and glory a bastard could never imagine, but he could not allow Dickon Tarly, a boy and the last of Randyll Tarly's line to die. 'Find cover and send men to clear a breach through the ruins! Take those buildings!'

He never imagined Robb Stark would cut him off from his backups. He reined up his horse and charged towards the collapsed buildings. He could hear his men trying to clear out the rubble blocking them on the other side. He looked at the size of the collapsed building and despaired. They would need a ram to clear out that mess on time.

Bolts rained on them from all sides. How on earth could the Northmen still have enough recourses to attack us? He wondered, the Northmen didn't have any damn arrows! Until he saw one of the arrows lodged in a wooden pillar beside him: it was fletched with white goose feathers, only men of the Reach used such arrows. These bastards were using his own arrows he fired at them against him. He could not help but admire Stark a little more.

One of said arrows caught Ser Tommen Costayne right in his throat. Costayne gurgled and collapsed from his horse, which did not survive its master much longer. His men had managed to seize one or two of the buildings, but there were still men firing at them from other buildings.

Suddenly, a small postern gate his men were hammering at smashed open, from the inside. From within Robb Stark, the King in the North strode out himself, gaunter and paler than last time Garlan saw him but as fierce as he ever was. Beside his heels strode his wolf Grey Wind, a dark shadow at his side. Five hundred infantry followed him with heavy shields and long spears.

'Damn this man to the seven hells.' Garlan muttered. Robb Stark had caught him unawares.

They advanced into the yard. His men charged at them on horse but their horses neighed and reared before Grey Wind and refused to charge. Ser Hyle Hunt was flung off his horse but charged at Robb Stark on foot, sword in hand. Stark disarmed him after a quick flurry, kicking Ser Hyle to the floor. Grey Wind tore his throat out. The infantry behind him advanced in united formation. They seemed to be Boltons. Their chivalry wavered before their long spears.

Why are all my enemies always so brilliant? Garlan groaned to himself. He didn't dare use the Saltpetre any more. Using Saltpetre would kill Stark but would also bring down his own men.

A confused battle raged on in the yard, as the Stark soldiers closed in from west, north and east. 'Fall back to the buildings!' Garlan commanded. Dickon and he, along with a dozen men or so retreated to a stout two-story stone building. He had the doors barred, left two men to guard and dashed for the second story to have a clear view of the battle.

The Starks were having obvious advantage in the yard now. Robb Stark himself has just skewered two men with his sword. The graveled ground was red with blood. A trapped wolf is the most dangerous, he remembered his grandmother Olenna was fond of saying. That certainly was true. He glanced at the south. He could not see the rubble blocking their way but obviously his men had failed to make a breach. Right now he was hoping some would inform Randyll Tarly of their position and he would send in more backups.

Suddenly, a crunching sound filled his ears. He thought the Starks were hammering at his door, but the sound was coming from the south. Obviously someone was going at the rubble with a ram. But Tarly didn't bring rams, thought Garlan. Did Robb Stark send a second host and re-captured the gates?

But, to his joy, it was not. With a large sound the rubble collapsed, and from the other side emerged a large ram, a large mass of horse and Tyrion Lannister, a small man with a large axe, his brother the Kingslayer at his side. Never before had Garlan felt so pleased to see Lannisters. His men catched Stark unawares, and swept through the yard. The Northmen fell back.

'STAND AND FIGHT, you cowards!' he heard Stark roar. 'Stand and fight! This is our last chance to fight back!' But no, his man would not listen to him. Two spearmen grabbed Robb Stark and pulled him back to safety behind a trench before the Lannisters could get him, him roaring and cursing.

'You'll pay for this!' Robb Stark was shrieking as he was dragged away into safety, 'you traitors will pay with your own blood! _I am the king! _I command you to fight! Fight those damn Lannisters! Arrow them out!'

The last of the Stark men fled deeper into Winterfell, as the crimson sea of Lannisters roared into the formidable citadel.


	14. Chapter 14 Winter has Come

Chapter 14 Winter has come

Lannisters were everywhere.

The attack prepared on Flower's van had failed when the Lannisters had charged through the poorly repaired gates unexpectedly. Now they had charged right in. The Castle's yard was a mess, with trenches and hastily erected defenses built of sacks of grain and earth defending the entrance to the Great Keep, under heavy pressure of cavalry charges. The Maester's Tower had been stormed, likewise the Godswood. The defenders were under heavy pressure and there were no backups. The end is near, Catelyn thought grimly.

She was wandering aimlessly around Winterfell, in the sections still controlled by her son, her fingers closed around the small glass of poison in her robes. She wanted to get one last glimpse of Winterfell and the men before all ended.

Mikken the smith was still at his smithy, a mere hundred foot from the battle, hammering out and repairing swords and spears for the soldiers. The old man at the glass gardens, Septon Bernard and Beth Cassel were still holding to their posts, likewise at the very front of battle.

In the entrance of the Bunker she saw her son Robb, and Grey Wind. Maester Luwin was there as well, as was several guardsmen. She saw two Stark soldiers forcing open Grey Wind's mouth as another two held him down. In Maester Luwin's hand was a small pinch of white powder. Grey wind struggled and resisted and yowled piteously.

'Here, good boy,' Robb Stark knelt beside him and ruffled his ears, 'I'm here. It's all fine.'

Grey wind calmed a little. Luwin poured all the powder into his throat, the very next second the Direwolf collapsed, yowling and twisting and dying. Her son turned his head, not bearing to look. The wolf's golden eyes closed forever. A soldier carried away the body for burial.

Robb Stark slowly walked away. He saw her, but walked away nonetheless.

He knows all is lost, thought Catelyn. He knows the Lannisters have won this war.

Outside the Lannisters had already entered the castle and now were engaging in fierce street fighting. The 5,000 or so defenders of Winterfell were forced to fight well over ten thousand elite Lannister cavalry. Shouting and screams filled the castle.

In the bunker she saw Vayon Poole and his daughter. Poole stood up.

'My Lady.' Vayon Poole looked at her seriously, an elegant man with silvery-grey hair. 'I have been seeking for you. Lady Catelyn… I have served House Stark as chief steward for many long years, and faithfully. In these last days… may I request a boon, My Lady?'

'Speak, if it is in my power to give it is yours.' Lady Catelyn already knew what he wanted.

'I wish for a dose of Sweetsleep, My Lady, or any poison Maester Luwin has in stock that gives a quick, painless death.' Vayon Poole spoke with a hard dignity.

His daughter Jeyne Poole was crying, her eyes swollen red. 'I want one too,' she whispered, 'I have chosen to die here with Robb. Can I have Sweetsleep? I want to look pretty when I die.'

'Brave girl,' Catelyn managed a small smile. 'I shall instruct Maester Luwin to prepare a dose for you, and your father. I am sorry I cannot give you a better gift.'

'The honor of remaining with His Grace to the bitter end is the greatest gift of all, My Lady,' Vayon Poole said, his daughter nodding in agreement. Catelyn felt pained. Her girl was a friend of Sansa, she knew. Sansa had disappeared yesterday when the keep she was in was took by the Lannisters. Most like she was dead by now.

She went to seek Maester Luwin.

The Maester was sitting on a bench in the bunker, his eyes closed as if daydreaming. A long gash weeping blood was at a side of his robes. Catelyn thought he was dead until he opened his eyes. 'My Lady. Have you come to transcript your will?'

'No. You are wounded.'

'Aye…' Luwin moved and winced with pain. 'I saw a wounded soldier in the battlefield and tried to escort him to safety. A Lannister got me in the yard… may I help you, My Lady?'

'Yes. Vayon Poole and his daughter require two further doses of Sweetsleep.'

'I see.' Maester Luwin produced a small wooden box from his sleeve, groaning with pain.

'In here is the last of Sweetsleep I have in stock, My Lady. I fear I am in no fit condition to deliver them myself. Not much, I fear, Sweetsleep and other poisons are in… hard demand these days.'

'I thank you.' She was leaving when she remembered something. 'Maester Luwin. Lord Karstark is going to lead a sortie to try and breach the Lannister siege lines, and meet up with the resistance at the Karhold. It is my wish that you go with them.' Lord Rickard had massed the last forty of so horses in Winterfell to try and break through the Lannisters. Maester Luwin had served her for long years, this was the least she owed him. She had no chance of surviving the war now, but Luwin was a Maester. That gave him some chance of survival.

'I am wounded, My Lady. I have no chance out in the battlefield.'

'You are a fine councilor, of great value. It is my wish that you go with Lord Karstark.'

'I'm not going anywhere, My Lady.' After said, Maester Luwin produced a small glass bottle out of his sleeve and swallowed it in one sharp gulp. He gurgled, and fell to the ground instantly with a soft thump, his eyes slowly closing. She looked at Luwin aghast.

She looked for a man to carry out his body. She found no one. All the servants were either fighting outside or dead already.

Halfway out of the bunker, she saw Ser Rodrik Cassel and Lord Asher Forrester, a young lord with short brown hair were drinking a flagon of wine together in a small chamber, sloshing the wine around their mouths several times before they swallowed.

'Poison is no honorable death,' she heard Lord Asher whispering to Ser Rodrik, 'I would far rather die by sword. Sweetsleep is a coward's death.'

'Poison's the quickest way, you get to die painlessly,' Ser Rodrik likewise replied in a quiet voice. 'If you suicide with a dagger it could only damage the flesh but nothing essential. We've killed more Lannisters in battle than I can count. If they take us alive…'

'A sword through the chest is always guaranteed for a quick death in a matter of seconds. The Maesters say there's a thick vein there that leaks all your blood out the second it's opened.'

'To hell with your veins. Maester Luwin has given me this,' Ser Rodrik's mail rustled as he produced something. 'Not Sweetsleep, he's out of stock, everyone wants that. Essence of Poisonous Celery. Chew this and a man will feel a numb in his toes. That numb will spread up his legs slowly, and when it reaches his heart he is dead, in a few short seconds. No pain, an intact corpse, only some blood at the lips. A dignified death.'

'Poison is for women, cravens and Dornishmen. You chew that pill, but I will die by the sword. Before you kill yourself thrust that big dagger of yours into my chest.'

'You open your chest all you want, I want my corpse to look handsome…' When he saw Lady Catelyn he fell silent. Catelyn passed, pretending she did not hear him. She saw Vayon Poole and his daughter again, helping two wounded men back into the safety of the bunker. She gave them the poison they required. Vayon Poole thanked her gravely.

Men were fighting under the tower and dying there, she knew. The Stark men were fighting valiantly but they had no chance against twice their numbers. She decided that she would not allow herself to be took by the Lannisters, neither would she allow her children.

She headed for Bran and Rickon's bedchambers. Brandon and Rickon were on the same bed, both were fast asleep. They looked so precious, her beautiful boys.

It is for the best, she thought, if they are captured by the Lannisters they would be humiliated, tortured, maybe even raped. But still, it was a monstrous sin to slay one of her own blood with her own hand, two sons would be a sin so shameful even a Lannister would turn away.

Not until Bran's figure blurred before her did she notice she was crying. If I look back I am lost, she thought, lost forever. She could not allow her children to live in a world ruled by the Lannisters.

She kissed both of her boys on the cheek, and poured a large dose of Sweetsleep in their mouths.

After what seemed like forever she staggered out of the room. She did not feel anything in her now, her heart was as numb as stone now. She had used all her sorrow for Ned and Father, there was none left. Now she only wanted to sleep, to sleep forever and never wake or dream.

_I have no sons but Robb now._

Slowly she walked through the empty halls of Winterfell, as if her feet did not belong herself. She went to the sept, where she had once prayed for Bran's legs to heal. She would've gone to the Godswood as well, but the Lannisters had seized that place.

She went to the bunker, slowly walking through the small underground corridors. Inside one of the rooms she discovered the bodies of Ser Rodrik Cassel and Lord Asher Forrester, sprawled dead on two chairs. Ser Rodrik had blood on his lips and Lord Asher a dagger through his heart. It would seem that Rodrik had killed Forrester first then poisoned himself. She found two sheets of white cloth and covered their faces, but did not feel anything. She was dead in the heart.

In the Great Keep a line of soldiers stood, all bloody and dusty from the street fights, Lord Flint decorating them with medals.

'Spearman Ned Woods successfully defended the Glass Gardens against five Lannister soldiers, he shall be decorated with a Northern Glory Medal, third class.' A young noseless man saluted.

'Ser Graham Wode, slew two Tarly knights in joint combat, he shall be decorated with a Northern Glory Medal, third class. Alfer Snow, breached a Lannister attack line to pass important information, he shall be awarded a sword inlaid with leather and silver. Attacker Lync Rivers, destroyed a Tarly catapult in a sortie, he shall be decorated with a Northern Glory Medal…'

Catelyn walked on. Before the Great Hall of Winterfell a small band of men were gathered as well. The Greatjon, bloody and wounded from the fighting outside, Lord Karstark, armed and ready for an attempted breach, and Lord Mallister and her Uncle Brynden. Brynden greeted her.

'Ah, Cat…' he abruptly stopped when he saw the look on her face. He realized something. 'Your sons…'

'I have no sons but Robb.' She looked at her Uncle's horrified expression. 'I couldn't let them live in a world ruled by the Lannisters.'

Her Uncle shifted the topic quickly. 'Cat, have you any idea what Robb is doing?'

'Robb?' She was not thinking about Robb. She was presuming he was leading a sortie outside.

'After he killed Grey Wind he has confined himself to the Great Hall, not allowing anyone to enter. He's been in there for several hours now.'

A horrible thought went through her head. 'Open these doors right now,' she commanded.

'Lord Umber has the keys.'

'But His Grace ordered for us to leave him alone…' protested the Greatjon.

'I said _open these doors, _My Lord.' She snarled.

Reluctantly, the Greatjon opened the doors slowly. The rich smell of blood wafted out.

King Robb of the House Stark, the third of his name, King of the North and the Trident, Lord of Winterfell sprawled dead on his throne of wolves, his bronze-and-iron crown askew. He clutched his longsword, still bloody, weakly in one hand, his blue eyes staring blankly towards the ceiling.

Robb had chosen death over the humiliation of capitulation or defeat.

The tears burned down her cheeks, stinging as sharp as vinegar.

She let out a long scream, from the depth of her throat, dashing towards Robb, fiercely embracing his cold, lifeless body. She could hear the battles raging outside, hear the Lannisters singing and charging. None of that mattered now.

It hurts so much… all of her children were dead now, dead or lost. Two of them at her own hand. Ned, Bran, Rickon, Sansa, Arya… now Robb… the Stark line has ended, she thought.

'Cat?' Somewhere far away, a distant voice belonging to her uncle was calling her. She did not respond. 'Lord Umber, escort Lady Catelyn back to her chambers.'

Lord Umber picked her up with strong hands as if she weighed no more than a doll, showing surprising gentleness. She was still weeping.

Suddenly she tore herself free of him. She ran, faster than she ever had, not knowing where her strength had come from. Uncle Brynden made a grab for her, but she dodged. She ran to the Throne of Wolves, where her boy Robb lay dead.

With all of her remaining strength, she bashed her head against the cold stone direwolf engraved on the sides of the throne. Red hot blood covered the cold grey stone.

_I have come to join you, Ned, _that was her last thought.


	15. Chapter 15 Never Surrender

I'm very sorry but I have been rather busy this weekend, I have several mathematical lectures to attend so I only have time to write one chapter today. I'll resume the two chapter per day update speed tomorrow.

And yes, several of the lines in the last chapter were copied from some of Catelyn's POVs in the books such as 'it hurts so much' and 'I have no sons but Robb', (Pleeaase don't sue me George. R. R. Martin) but mostly I came up with them myself. A few of the lines also came from the German movie Downfall and the Chinese novel 'The Yellow Storm.'

Chapter 15 Never Surrender

Winterfell's yard was hardly recognizable.

Trenches were dug on both sides, every building a stronghold, soldiers garrisoned everywhere. Blood drenched the gravel red, and flames burned all over. On the buildings to either side dozens of bodies were hanged, with crude signs hung to their necks: 'I side with the blonde beasts,' some of them wrote. 'I love Lannisters,' some said simply. Lord Jason Mallister decided that they must be unfortunate residents of Winterfell caught by the defenders trying to flee.

Stark soldiers were stationed in their defenses, starved men in ragged armour, spears and swords in hand, ready to throw back any Lannisters. The Southron knights were on their horses and armed with lance and spear, charging again and again.

Now the yard was quieter. Through an exchange of messengers an hour-long truce was agreed upon. Jason Mallister, along with two Stark guardsmen crossed through the war-ridden castle under a peace banner with a seven-pointed star. Lannister and Tyrell crossbowmen on the buildings to either side, pointing loaded bows at them warily. He felt uncomfortable.

He was sent as an envoy. After His Grace Robb Stark and his mother's horrifying deaths, according to his will Ser Brynden Tully had took over full control of the realm and commanded him to attempt to broker a peace with the Lannisters.

'My Lord. Do you think those Lannisters will agree to a peace?' One of the men accompanying him, a Northman by the name of Hallis Mollen asked him.

'We'll know soon,' he replied.

The Lannisters had set up a perimeter of wooden stakes around the South Gate as well, guarding their own camps. Several of those stakes were risen to allow them to pass. The center pavilion of the Lannisters was right out of the South Gate of Winterfell, a huge crimson monstrosity large as any hall, Lannister Household Guards in red cloaks and lion halfhelms guarding at the gate. He was halted with his men at the entrance. 'You shall wait.'

'I am an envoy, with a scheduled negotiation ahead.'

'They are busy. You shall wait.' A swaggering sellsword said uncourteously.

'And who are you to tell me what to do, sellsword?'

'Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, Lord of Stokeworth.' The man grinned.

Jason snorted. The Lannisters must be extremely shorthanded as to name a sellsword to a castle such as Stokeworth. After a short while, a command was barked from the inside of the pavilion. Jason recognized the smooth voice of the Kingslayer. 'Enter!'

Bronn of the Blackwater made way, allowing him to pass. He halted his two companions. 'You pass. They stay.' Jason Mallister felt insulted but managed to restrain himself.

Inside the pavilion the air was pleasantly warm. The pavilion was lavishly furnished, and a long table was set in the middle, with the Imp, the Kingslayer and Ser Daven Lannister sitting behind, drinking together. A pimply little squire attended them. The remains of a half-finished supper lay on the table, roasted aurochs, fresh trout and pease.

_We are struggling to feed our soldiers and here the Lannisters are, gorging on the fat of our land, _he thought bitterly.

The aurochs gave a pleasant aroma and Jason felt his mouth water. He had not had a strip of meat in a fortnight. All meat was given to the soldiers fighting at the front.

'Welcome, My Lord,' greeted Ser Jaime Lannister

Jason Mallister merely responded with a light bow of his head. He would not honor a company of these three with a salute.

'Sit, Lord Mallister,' Tyrion gestured as Lord Mallister sat down. 'I believe we have met.'

'Aye. I stayed at Casterly Rock for a fortnight during the Greyjoy Rebellion.' Lord Mallister sat down on a chair that squire had carried to him. The chair was cushioned, very soft, with a back designed to lean on. Jason sat with his back straight as a spear. He refused to relax in such a place.

'You know, cushions are meant to be leaned on, My Lord,' mocked Tyrion Lannister.

Jason ignored the quip. 'My condolences, My Lords.'

'Condolences for what?' Ser Daven Lannister demanded.

'You have lost the so-called Race for Winterfell. The Flowers boy breached first.'

Tyrion Lannister laughed. 'On the contrary, My Lord, we have won. We saved Flowers' life by charging into the yard where Stark assaulted him. He has yielded the victory to us. Ser Garlan has proved to be a true Reach gentleman.'

Jason had no knowledge of that. 'It makes no difference. None of you shall conquer the North.'

Tyrion Lannister laughed harder, as if he said something amusing. 'What news from inside the citadel, My Lord?' Ser Jaime Lannister asked him, ignoring his brother.

Jason Mallister sat straighter. 'I am here to inform you that our King, Robb Stark has just committed suicide, so has his mother, the Lady Catelyn, the Princes Brandon and Rickon and several other notable members of the Supreme Command.'

Tyrion Lannister stopped laughing and showed shock from his mismatched eyes, so did Ser Jaime and Ser Daven. They exchanged an uneasy glance.

'We… were aware of that,' claimed Tyrion Lannister. He stared at his brother and cousin, and gave a slight tilt of his head. Those two understood the hint and nodded in agreement.

Jason would've laughed if he could. That was too Lannister, claiming knowledge for something they knew not. 'That seems… unlikely, My Lord.'

'Anyhow, according to His Grace's will Ser Brynden Tully is now in full control of the kingdom until a suitable heir is found. The new government under him has given me permission, to broker a peace.' Jason produced a scroll of parchment from his belt, handing it to Tyrion Lannister.

Tyrion Lannister opened the scroll and went through it carefully.

'We have both suffered grievous losses in the war. We feel a ceasefire would be good for both of our kingdoms.' Jason Mallister looked as Tyrion Lannister slowly went through the terms.

'So then, you require us to retreat out of the North and the Trident, offer royal pardons for your Lords, and allow the North and the Trident to remain an independent kingdom under the rule of House Stark as a vassal of the Iron Throne. As repayment you will lay down arms and offer hostages.' Tyrion finished the long scroll of parchment. 'Tell me, Lord Mallister, if by some miracle you Starks managed to win the war, and it was you besieging King's Landing and we offered a similar pact, would you accept?'

'The question is invalid, thus has no meaningful answer.'

Tyrion rose an eyebrow, as if amused. The Kingslayer spoke. 'In that case, My Lord, you may inform Ser Brynden, your new ruler of the following: Winterfell has no choice but unconditional surrender. You shall disarm all the defenders of Winterfell as well as the loose resistance in the North. The Lords who have played parts in the rebellion shall hand themselves over as captives and be sent to King's Landing to await trial. No pardons shall be offered. Then we can talk.'

'The command will never agree to those terms.'

'Under the current circumstances, I fear you have no other alternative.' The Kingslayer said in tones of steel. From his perfect teeth issued out the death sentence of the North.

Jason Mallister could only fume at them.

'I hope you will excuse me,' he managed.

He walked back into Winterfell with a heavy heart. His escort knew what had happened with one look at his face. 'The Lannisters refused your offer?' asked Mollen.

'Refused my offer, and shredded it, and smeared it in my face.' Jason could felt his fingers itching. He wanted to kill someone. Especially a Lannister.

The walk back to the bunker was not long, but extremely difficult. Winterfell was reshaped by the fighting, existing paths being blockaded by rubble, new paths created out of topped buildings. The ceasefire was almost ended when they returned to the bunker complex.

The other lords were likewise furious when he informed them of the Lannister response. 'Unconditional surrender? NEVER!' the Greatjon roared furiously, 'that would be a disgrace!'

'I will never surrender, least of all to the Lannisters,' the Blackfish made his stance firm. 'I will defend Winterfell to my last breath. I fled from Riverrun, I will not flee and hide like a coward again. During the short span of time when I am still effective ruler of this kingdom, I will never agree to unconditional surrender to the Lannisters. _Never_!'

'We stand no chance! We will die!' protested Ser Edwyn Frey.

'If we rage on this war thousands of civilians shall die, we need to protect them!'

'King Robb commanded us to fight! We cannot defy his orders!' roared Edmure Tully.

'I am telling you, negotiations are the only way to get out of this mess!' someone shouted.

The Lords and knights in the room began shouting and screaming, arguing with each other, each one screaming to make themselves heard. The Greatjon was shouting how he would gut anyone who tried to surrender and Lord Flint was screeching that protecting the people of Winterfell ought to be the first priority. Jason noticed Ser Edwyn Frey had slipped out of the room in the confusion on the argument, looking suspicious. Jason followed.

'I repeat, My Lords. I SHALL NEVER SURRENDER!' He heard the Blackfish bellow behind him.

Ser Edwyn walked towards the exit of the bunker. Frey was fully garbed, and he grabbed a peace banner, the very same one Jason had used to travel under to the Lannister camps.

'What do you think you are doing?!' He showed himself and demanded to Frey.

Frey was shocked for a second, but soon overcame that shock. 'To offer capitulation to the Lannisters. We must surrender to the Iron Throne! There is no way we may defend Winterfell.'

Anger flowed through his heart like the tides. He felt a vein around his temple throbbing hard. Suddenly one hand was at the scabbard at his belt. He unsheathed his longsword, and pointed the tip at Ser Edwyn's thin throat. 'Then I'll kill you first!' He bellowed, 'King Robb had forbidden us to surrender!' He had noticed behind him Lord Edmure had joined him as well, him too sword in hand. Frey looked at them two, obviously scared.

Jason could not control himself. Heatedly, he flung himself at Ser Edwyn Frey and drew the tip of his longsword through his traitor's throat.


	16. Chapter 16 Capitulation

Chapter 16 Capitulation

Boom, boom, boom, the ram went.

'Hold fast!' Hallis Mollen, commander of the Stark Household Guard roared to his men, sword in hand. The Lannisters were going at the doors of the Great Keep with a ram.

Clouds of sawdust rose from the groaning doors. Planks splintered before the force of the attackers. Suddenly with a great roar, the doors gave away, as the Lannisters charged in.

They poured into the Great Hall in a tide of iron, the gates blasting open with a gust of cold wind. Several were ahorse, but most were dismounted for indoors combat. 'Fire!' He roared. Stark soldiers on the second story opened fire towards the Lannisters in lower levels, firing on them from all directions, turning the hall into a killing-yard of sorts. The soldiers screamed as they were gunned down by bolts raining down at them.

Several Lannisters made a dash for the staircases, charging up sword in hand, as a line of Stark defenders fought them back on the high ground. A sea of enemies swarmed up towards them, engulfing the thin line of Stark spearmen, charging out of the hall onto the second floor, where most of the defenders were.

The defenders stood side by side and formed a crude shield wall. The Lannisters crashed into them, struggling to gain ground but unable to advance beyond the line of men. But with sheer force they pushed them back several feet. One Lannister made a suicide charge and crashed into their lines, instantly being impaled on a spear but sending two men reeling, breaking a gap through their lines. The others seized the opportunity and poured through.

The Lannisters both outnumbered them and were better armed. Soon the woolen carped was soaked with Northern blood. They would only die if they held fast.

'Abandon positions!' He screamed to his men, deciding to retreat to the nearby Broken Tower.

There was a long wooden bridge connecting the two towers at the third story, he chose to retreat over there. The pavement below was swarming with Lannister horses.

As they retreated across the bridge between the Broken Tower and the Great Keep, Hal turned and saw Ser Daven Lannister, easily recognizable with his fierce golden mane had scaled the roof of the Keep. With a savage hack of his battle-axe Lannister cut off the Stark standard atop the keep and planted down the Lannister flag he had on his back. The golden lion roared over Winterfell.

'Hear me roar!' He could hear Lannister bellowing atop the roof. Crowds of enemy soldiers cheered in the occupied yard below. Hal wished bitterly he had a crossbow.

Ser Jaime Lannister was riding through the lane below, sword in hand, charging down a small group of Northmen. A horde of Lannisters kicked open the entrance to the Bridgeway and charged at them. After a confused fight, the six Lannisters or so that had chased them through the Keep were all slew, their bodies flung off the bridge to crash into the pavement below.

Hal glanced at his remaining companions. Only fifteen or so remained, of the score of guards in the Great Keep, bloody and bruised to a man. 'We head for the bunkers,' he commanded, 'Ser Brynden must be reported of the situation.'

The walk to the bunkers was not an easy one. He knew Winterfell as well as any Northman but the ways through the ruins were tricky and perilous. They climbed down the Broken Tower's ruined staircase, slaying several Lannisters they had chanced to meet upon along the way. Crows circled the high tower, screaming 'corn, corn, corn.'

Every street was a battlefield, every building a stronghold. Small catapults and scorpions had been erected by Lannisters, bombarding the sections under Stark control constantly. Lannister cavalry roared through the streets in huge hordes, riding down any defenders chance met.

Around the entrance of the bunker a heavy battle was raging on. The bunker's entrance was a small gardened yard well hidden amidst the stone forest of Winterfell, with only one archway under the inner wall allowing entrance. The iron portcullis had been destroyed. There was a line of defense there, built of sacks of stone and sand and corpses, poorly manned, withstanding charge after charge of Lannisters. They hastily raised a gap to allow Hal and his men to pass.

'Where are the backups!' Hal screamed to their leader once they scrambled into safety.

'No backups! We're the last ones!' The commander of the defenses, a portly knight shouted back, raising his voice to make himself heard over the rumble of the battle. 'The rest are either dead or yielded.' He pointed at the further end of the pavement outside, a small band of ragged men. 'Those, they used to be mine, chose to yield. Bloody bastards.'

When Hal arrived at the entrance the doors hastily swung open allowing them to enter. 'The bunker's under attack,' Hal informed the guards within, 'bar the gates.'

After said he strode down the staircase into the bunker complex. It was almost entirely empty, save for a few Riverlords who had chosen to remain in the subterranean safety. He saw Lord Edmure Tully, and Lord Mallister, and Ser Brynden Tully. They all sat silent in the war conference room, waiting for the last.

'My Lord, Commander Hal Mollen has come with his divisions,' the Blackfish's squire Olyvar Frey whispered to him.

The Blackfish rose and greeted him. Hal saluted.

'How many men have died outside, Commander Mollen?' Tully asked him.

Hal did not expect that question. 'At least three thousand today.'

Tully nodded gravely. 'I'll have no more further need of you, Hallis Mollen.' Ser Brynden Tully smiled sadly. 'The game is over.' He was wearing a set of fine black armour, a longsword on his belt.

'My Lord…' Hallis Mollen made to say something, but was halted.

'I will have no more brave blood shed at my command.' The Blackfish strided away, towards his own modest chambers in the bunker. Olyvar Frey, previous squire of Robb followed him.

'What do we do now?' Fat Tom, one of the older guards asked him.

'Go deeper into the bunker. We make a last stand for the North.' Hal commanded to his men. Fat Tom, Poxy Tym and the dozen more companions followed him through a doorway, down a winding staircase into a series of deep dark corridors a hundred feet beneath the castle. That place was as fine a place to die as any, Hal supposed. And the corridor had a good defensive position. He could bring down twice his number of Lannisters.

The corridors were deep and sweltering, only poorly furnished, an occasional lamp burning here or there, giving a dull yellow light. He and his men winded through the walkways, all silent.

Somewhere around the dark walkways beneath the castle they saw Lord Flint, him too with a small band of resistance. Two dozen, maybe, Hal estimated, but only twenty or so fit enough to fight. They wore battered armour, held broken spears and bloody swords, covered with dust and gore. They had torches, a pool of light in this dull darkness. 'Lord Flint!' Hal saluted him, so did his men. 'Hallis Mollen, Commander of the Royal Household Guard.'

Flint returned the salute. Flint was short and lithe, with a sharp grey beard and sharper grey eyes. 'Commander Mollen. My divisions were fighting around the Glass Gardens. The Lannisters overwhelmed us with a mass cavalry charge. We are the sole survivors of that section.'

'We were fighting in the Great Keep. A dozen remain of the score of defenders. The Lannisters stormed the keep, and that damn Ser Daven planted their bloody lion standard above the roof.'

'In the Lannister opinion, the Great Keep is the symbol of the Northern power, similar to their Red Keep. It is not surprising the Lannister would concentrate their forces to storm the place.' Lord Flint savagely kicked away a rat chewing at his boot. 'How is the situation above?'

Hal grimaced. 'Not good. The Lannisters have slew all the men outside the doors. It's only a matter of time before they storm the bunker. Some of the guards outside were yielding.'

'Yielding?' Flint said, aghast, as if he did not understand what he was saying.

'Aye, some yielded. The Lannisters were evacuating those who surrendered outside. Only a handful of guards remain there now, against a sea of Lannisters.'

'If the door gives away the bunker complex will not last an hour.'

'Aye.' Hal agreed. 'What do we do?'

Lord Flint was sitting on a low table. He stood up. 'I'll need to ask your opinion about this,' he demanded to the soldiers,' what do you say we do? Do we yield as some do, or fight?'

'We fight!' Poxy Tym shouted. 'We cannot yield unconditionally. That would be shameful.'

'What are you suggesting?' asked Lord Flint.

'We all stay here together, and wait for the Lannisters to come. Then we fight with everything we've got, fight to the last man and bring down as many damn Lannisters as we can.'

'Is this the only alternative?' Lord Flint asked. 'Would you all choose death over life?'

'You can do what you want, My Lord, but we are of the Stark Household Guard. We all swore an oath to the Young Wolf and his father before him. It is rightful we should accompany him to death.'

'If anyone agrees with him, raise your hand.' Lord Flint looked around.

Fat Tom rose his hand. So did all of Lord Flint's men, Lync Rivers, Sam, Daymon, Fred, and many others. Hal rose his hand. After some pause, Lord Flint raised his hand also.

'Very fine then.' Lord Flint shook his head. 'We stay here and fight.'

The time went by slowly, as they waited alone in the darkness. The place was dark, but it was a fine place to make a last stand, he thought. They chose a small damp dead end down in the bunkers, deep down Winterfell and sweltering hot. His soldiers were steaming with sweat under their furs, but all held to their swords, waiting for their last fight. Above them they could hear screaming and shouting, iron clashing on iron as the Lannister soldiers attacked the bunker. They could hear their footsteps from above. They were all waiting for the Lannisters to come.

Some were lying on the rough chairs set on the sides of the corridors, trying to get some rest before the last fight. Hal was pacing restlessly across the walkway. He slowly counted his heartbeats, trying to make the time passing a bit faster.

'Commander Mollen. Can you honor me with a talk?' Lord Flint called to him, gesturing at two small chairs at one corner.

'I would be honored.' Hal went over and sat down.

Lord Flint sat down, groaning slightly. That was when Hal noticed the Lord had a wound on his calf. 'Some Lannister got me with a spear. I've grown old and careless.'

Hal sat down. 'I have a small bottle of Myrish Fire,' he offered, 'you ought to care your wound.'

Lord Flint managed a hard smile. 'I will die today, one more unhealed wound makes no difference.'

He wished he had Flint's courage before the face of death. He said so to Flint.

'I fear… I have no alternative other than death.' Flint reached for a small glass bottle in his belt. 'His Grace gave this to me the day before he killed himself. Sweetsleep. He commanded me to commit suicide if the war was lost, or if I was took captive by the Lannisters.'

Hal was both horrified and envious. He wished he had some Sweetsleep too. 'I…'

Before he could find a reply, a shout broke their conversation. 'They're coming!' Someone shouted.

Flint and Hal both rose and unsheathed their swords, so did the rest of the small band of soldiers. He could hear them, he could hear footsteps winding down the staircase towards them. But he only heard one set of footsteps. Who was coming?

When the source of the footsteps appeared, the saw it was no Lannister. It was Olyvar Frey, one-time squire to Robb Stark. He held a white sheet of cloth in one hand.

'Hold your fire! I fight for the North.' Olyvar entered with both hands raised. Slowly, the defenders sheathed their swords. Olyvar looked pale and one the verge of collapsing.

'The Lord Protector Brynden Tully has just declared total capitulation of the kingdom,' said Frey. 'He… he has committed suicide. But before his death he commanded all defenders of Winterfell to lay down arms and yield to the Lannisters.'

Hal looked at Olyvar incredulously. He could not believe it. They had surrendered?

'It is over now. The war is lost.' Olyvar Frey said slowly.

Olyvar Frey's lips were still moving, but Hallis Mollen did not care what he said next. His King was gone, his Country was gone, his family was gone. All was lost.

Behind him, he heard Lord Flint gulp down something and collapse instantly. Several more thumps followed, as several more soldiers shoved their daggers into their chests.

'Gods forgive me,' Hal whispered, as he drove his sword right into his heart.


	17. Aftermath

In the third month of 300 AC, Ser Brynden Tully, Protector of the Realm declared total capitulation for the Kingdom of the North and the Trident, commanding all defenders to set down arms.

Two weeks later, the last of the Northern resistance was crushed in the Karhold and Bear Island, officially ending the War of the Five Kings.

Many captives were took after the capitulation, most notable amongst them Jon Umber and Edmure Tully. These captives were later sent to King's Landing to await trail.

By now, a quarter of the Westerosi population was carried off by the Civil War, nearly half of those in the Riverlands and the North. Over ninety thousand soldiers were dead.

Sansa Stark: Found alive in a Lannister captive camp, but was raped multiple times, same as many women of Winterfell. Later married to Tyrion of House Lannister, living the rest of her long life in Casterly Rock, forever traumatized by the brutal death of her mother and brothers.

Brynden Tully: Committed suicide by sword after declaring total capitulation of the North, his bones interred beneath Riverrun at the insistence of Jaime Lannister.

Greatjon Umber: Held captive by Tarly forces in the Storming of Winterfell. Sentenced to death by King Joffrey during Trials of King's Landing.

Mors Umber: Retreated to his castle after aware of the defeat in Winterfell. Held captive whilst defending the Last Hearth against Lannisters. Thrown into the Black Cells beneath King's Landing after the Trials of King's Landing.

Rickard Karstark: Successfully breached the Lannister siege lines and fled further north. Died when Ser Addam Marbrand stormed the Karhold, slain by crossbow.

Lyanna Mormont: Committed suicide in Bear Island in the fourth month of 300AC after Lannisters advanced towards her seat.

Edmure Tully: Arrested by Lord Randyll Tarly whilst attempting to escape Winterfell. Later sent to Casterly Rock as a hostage to ensure further good behavior of the new Riverlords.

Jason Mallister: Arrested in the bunker by Tarly soldiers. Died during interrogation in a Lannister POW camp after being arrested in Winterfell. His ashes were thrown into the sea.

Black Walder Frey: captured by Lannisters after attempting to escape the castle after Ser Edwyn's death. Declared guilty of Treason and Crime of War in trials of King's Landing, later spared and forced to take the black in account of Lord Walder.

Hodor: beat to death by Lannister soldiers during the Storming of Winterfell. His body was later found, only recognizable by the size.

Tytos Blackwood: Died along with Ser Patrick Mallister defending Castle Cerwyn against the Lannisters. His body was never found.

Lords Hornwood and Cerwyn: all found guilty and hanged during Trails of King's Landing.

Lord Barrowton: surrendered to Lord Tarly after his defeat. His titles and lands were untouched by the Lannisters, but was forced to give his daughter as hostage to King's Landing.

Wyllis Manderly: Sentenced to death by noose in the Trials of King's Landing. He later requested to change to sentence of death by noose to beheading, but was refused. Committed suicide the day before scheduled execution in King's Landing.

Lord Wyman Manderly: arrested in Gulltown three days after Stark Capitulation, freed after ten years in the Black Cells, but sadly grew insane in the darkness of the cells.

Roose Bolton: Returned to the North after being rejected by Cersei Lannister in King's Landing but found himself stripped of titles and lands. Arrested in White Harbour under a false name by Lannister soldiers and committed suicide when his true identity was discovered.

The sack that followed Winterfell's capitulation was one of the worst the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. Every woman from eight to sixty were raped, often multiple times by soldiers. Women were chased naked through the streets, not by one man but a hundred. Although the Supreme Commanders Ser Jaime and Lord Randyll had forbidden massacres, many soldiers had lost kin to the Starks in the war and were burning for revenge. They killed man, maid and child alike. Some cut open pregnant women to slay their babes, not even the cats and dogs were spared. After the sack, there wasn't even one man left to wander the streets.

Ser Addam Marbrand and Ser Lyle Crakehall even began a 'killing race'. They competed each other who could kill one hundred Northmen first. After the day Ser Addam had killed 105 and Ser Lyle 112, but none could agree, so they agreed to raise the numbers to two hundred. But even that is almost plausible, in comparison to what some other men did. Some herded Northmen into a small wooden chamber and then set it afire, 'just for fun's sake.' Precious Valyrian scrolls from the Stark library were used as firewood, to the mass dismay of Tyrion Lannister who had desired several of the scrolls. When the soldiers broke into the vaults beneath Winterfell stuffed full of silver, they fought each other for plunder, stuffing their pockets with silver, then throwing away the silver to stuff in more gold, then throwing out the gold to stuff in precious gems. The wealth gathered by hundreds of Stark Kings and lords was obliterated in a few hours. The soldiers carried off what they could carry and burned what they could not.

No single building was untouched by the sack. When the few sections still under Northern control yielded, the Lannisters broke into every house and looted whatever they had.

Some citizens of Winterfell still resisted stubbornly, for days after Ser Brynden's surrender. Some hid in the deeper sections of the bunker, or deep down in the crypts, or behind hidden doors, hoping to launch a revolt when the Lannisters left. They were sadly disappointed, since before the Lannisters departed Tyrion had commanded for them to burn down the entire castle. They were all smothered to death by the smoke.

'Burn all of the buildings, every single one, let nothing remain here but stones and bones. Then we'll be done here, we can go home.' Tyrion had commanded to his men.

The Lannisters must not but faulted too keenly, however, since war makes men beasts. During the Stark invasion of the south, Northmen committed similar atrocities, some even worse than these.

White Harbour was the next to yield. Lord Manderly fled the city after the surrender, and his cousin, commander of the City Watch yielded the city to the Lannisters. Some other lords followed his example. Their lands were looted as well, but not as badly as Winterfell.

In White Harbour all men of fighting age were all arrested and questioned, amongst them was Roose Bolton, under the false name of Ser Domeric Snow. It would seem Roose Bolton had attempted to negotiate peace to Cersei Lannister, but was bluntly refused. 'He who has nothing has no right to demand any,' Cersei had famously remarked. Bolton had later returned to the North hoping to continue a resistance in the North when informed of Ser Brynden's capitulation, but when he attempted to join Lord Karstark's divisions he was insulted and dismissed. After he was captured and questioned, a soldier who had fought in the Battle of the Green Fork recognized him. What exposed Bolton chewed down a pill of Sweetsleep he had hidden in his mouth and died at the spot. He was buried in an unmarked grace.

The survivors of the North were sent to King's Landing to await trial. King Joffrey, Lord Tywin, Lord Tarly and Prince Oberyn stood as judges, representing the Crown and the three victorious houses of the Civil War. Lord Cerwyn, Lord Barrowton, Lord Manderly and his sons, Lord Edmure Tully, Lord Jonos Bracken, Lord Walder Frey and a score of his sons and grandsons, The Greatjon and his uncle Mors were both held trial and given verdict, most of them death. In the trials the Greatjon cursed the King and the judges with words so foul he had to be silenced.

It took two full months before the last trace of the war disappeared and the last resistance crushed. Sansa Stark, thankfully not pregnant, was married to Tyrion Lannister in a lavish ceremony in King's Landing, the bride still traumatized. The North was placed under Lannister control, though the Lannisters did not extent their rule over their new colony, only sending the occasional ambassador to collect taxes. A rough peace arrived to the Seven Kingdoms.

The War of the Five Kings was finally over, but…

After the war the North was reduced to but a smoking wasteland, hardly peopled, with only population at White Harbour and several larger towns. The Last Hearth and the Karhold were abandoned, and without resources from Winterfell the Night's Watch quickly dwindled, running low on both food and weapons. There is no capable army in the North…

Meanwhile, the White Walkers are advancing for The Wall…

Winter is coming.

THE END

At the end of this story I want to thank all of my readers for your huge support. This story had been truly interesting to write. If you have any suggestions for some other stories I could write feel free to private message me.


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